The Laughing Game
by The Chosen One
Summary: The unthinkable has occurred. The Joker has finally discovered that Batman is Bruce Wayne. And now, The Joker plans to use this knowledge against his nemesis to stage his terrifying endgame. Batman and The Joker are approaching their final battle...
1. The More Things Change

THE LAUGHING GAME

DISCLAIMER: Batman, The Joker, and the other supporting cast that will be popping up are, sadly, not my creations. I wrote this story a couple of years back, partly in collaboration with some other very talented writers. But then I forgot all about it. I recently rediscovered it, and decided to post it here. This was written before "Infinite Crisis/One Year Later", so apologies if some character details are outdated. I hope you enjoy it!

CHAPTER 1 – THE MORE THINGS CHANGE…

It was the middle of the night at Arkham Asylum. But very few people were asleep. Sleep, and the peace that came with it, was hard to come by within the Gothic structure of Arkham. Some called it a prison for the criminally insane, some called it a nuthouse. But the people that worked there, that had to live there with _them_, they just called it hell.

And out of all the people that worked there, none had it worse than the night-shift guys. Few Arkham employees lasted longer than two weeks, and if you were to spend a night within those walls of stone and steel, you'd know why. All sorts of sounds echoed along the winding halls, all through the night. Whimpers, anguished roars, pleas for help, they all drifted from the holding cells. But there was no question as to what sound was the most unnerving, no, the most terrifying. It came from the cell in the deepest, darkest recesses of the asylum, but it somehow managed to overpower every other sound, pounding all around the building and right through the souls of everyone in it. It was like The Devil being summoned from the abyss. And many people would say he was The Devil. The sound? A maniacal, whooping, seemingly never-ending laugh.

In Gotham City, The Joker was known for many things. He was known for his green hair and white skin, a ghastly, horrifying vision that many people prayed they would never have to see up-close. He was known for his horrifying crimes, his body count now in the thousands. And he was known for _that_ smile, that terrible smile, the same malicious grin that he left seared into the face of countless victims. Yes, he was known for many things. But in Arkham, he was known best for that laugh, filled with enough insanity to turn anyone who listened to it long enough mad as well. But the funny thing was, some may say that he didn't have much to laugh about.

The Joker was thinking about all that had gone wrong for him recently. His most recent plan to kill Batman had failed. He'd been beaten to within an inch of his life. And, after a brief spell in hospital, he was now back yet again in Arkham Asylum, his home away from home. And now here he was, stuck in a padded cell and locked into a straightjacket. So why was he laughing? Well, the sign of a truly great man is his ability to laugh at himself. But there was something else. Two little words that were so satisfying, so fascinating, so _hilarious_.

Bruce Wayne.

At long last, after all these years, The Joker knew who Batman really was. Bruce Wayne! Bruce Wayne Bruce Wayne Bruce Wayne Bruce Wayne Bruce Wayne Bruce Wayne Bruce Wayne. That's what he felt like shouting right now. But no, oh no, he wasn't going to do that. Not at all. This was going to be their little secret, a little in-joke that the two of them could share. And of course, The Joker loved jokes.

But the funniest joke, the cruellest joke, the _best _joke of all was life itself. Yes, life, now that was one whopper of a joke! But the thing was, nobody else got the joke, only him. And they lock him up here, and say he's mad. Well yes, he is mad. Mad as a hatter. Mad as The Mad Hatter, madder! Ha ha! But that's what happens when you finally get the joke. You're set free: madness is life's gift to you - if you finally unlock its true meaning. And oh it was a gift. Insanity, chaos, destruction, these are things of beauty. And The Joker loved nothing more than to spread them around.

And now, now he was preparing to let Batman, Mr. Wayne, old Brucie, in on the joke. Yes, even now he was planning his next gag. The Joker thought that this could very well end up being his all-time comedic high. And just wait until he got to the punchline – that was going to be a real killer!

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA……."


	2. In Dreams

CHAPTER 2 – IN DREAMS…

With a groan, Batman lurched back into consciousness. He could here ticking all around him.

"They say if you stay in here long enough, you go mad."

Batman's eyes opened, and the first sight that greeted him was the frightening visage of The Joker. Everything was falling into place now. He remembered chasing him into the clocktower, losing him. Then everything went… blank. But now, here he was, handcuffed to a wooden panel. But something wasn't right. What was eating at the back of his mind?

"And I'm going to drive you mad," The Joker continued, "Then I'm going to put a bullet in your head, set the madness free. How would you like that…Brucie?"

Batman's blood turned to ice. That was it. His mask was gone. Now, the secret of his true identity was in the hands of the worst possible person. This madman, this monster, The Joker. He felt rage boiling within him, almost uncontrollable. Batman was a myth, a symbol, a hero. Bruce Wayne was just a man, a man with people he loved and cared about, and now he had exposed them to this cackling, hate-filled monstrosity, the ultimate embodiment of evil as madness. Bruce Wayne's life was now corrupted forever by this creature of malice, and there was only one way to rip the cancer out before it spread and consumed all aspects of his life. With a roar, he snapped the handcuffs and lunged at his grinning tormentor. He hit him with a wave of vicious punches and kicks, not even stopping when he hit the ground. He'd gone too far. This time he was going to kill him.

The Joker raised a hand to shield himself from the flurry of blows. Batman grabbed his arm and smashed it into the ground, breaking it in two places. The next punch landed square in Joker's face. He felt the cartilage and bone crush under his fist. And deep within him, somewhere dark and primal and terrifying, Batman loved the feeling.

The Joker was now a bloody pulp, but Batman continued his assault. Never relenting. Never stopping. He wanted to beat the evil right out of him, and leave only an empty shell behind.

But then, somehow, he stopped himself. He looked down at the bloody mess lying before him. This would be his chance. Kill this monster once and for all. Just snap his neck and leave the cops to find him. Then all the pain, all the suffering, all the fear would finally end. No. He wouldn't bring himself to murder, not even for The Joker. Spitting blood, The Joker finally spoke.

"You…you…can't kill me, Brucie, you… heh heh… don't have the grapes."

Batman picked him up by the collar, holding him up in front of him.

"I'm taking you to Arkham…" he snarled.

But before he could finish, it started. Low and guttural at first, but gradually getting louder, more brazen. That hideous, heartless laugh.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…"

…

"Master Bruce?"

Bruce Wayne woke with a start. He felt the sweat lashing off of him. For a moment, there was that disorientation that comes from being lurched out of the dream-world, with the dreaded clocktower replaced with the luxurious master bedroom of Wayne Manor. He instinctively looked down at his hands, to see if The Joker's blood was still smeared all over them. It wasn't. But in the back of his head, like a tingling in his ears, he could still hear the laughter.

"Bad dream, sir?" asked Alfred, holding a tray with breakfast.

"Yes, Alfred," sighed Bruce, "About The Joker again."

"Well, sir, he now knows the truth about your identity," replied Alfred, "That is reason for concern…"

"No, Alfred, it's not that," Bruce continued, "It's the fact that I was going to kill him. The one thing that separates me from The Joker, and all those like him, is that I don't kill. Batman is supposed to help save lives, no matter whose life it is. If…if I'd killed him, what would that make me?"

"Well you didn't kill him: he's safely incarcerated in Arkham Asylum," said Alfred reassuringly, "Though if he had died, I think you'd have been forgiven."

That dry, sardonic wit, typical Alfred. He cast an anxious glance at the man that guided him through childhood, faced with the impossible task of substituting for parents cruelly stolen away from the young Bruce. And just like when he was 8 years old, and sobbing in his arms, Alfred was still here to tell him everything was going to be okay.

"Thanks, Alfred," he laughed half-heartedly, "Maybe I need some of your optimism."

"Just remember I won't be around forever, Master Bruce," said Alfred, leaving the tray by the bed and walking out of the bedroom.

Bruce sat up out of bed. He sighed, holding his head in his hands. The Joker may be in Arkham now, but he never stayed there long. Batman couldn't kill him, but while The Joker was alive, Bruce Wayne would not be able to sleep easy.


	3. Cheap Laughs

CHAPTER 3 – CHEAP LAUGHS

The Joker had laughed himself to sleep. He had no trouble sleeping at night, no sirree. And he didn't even have trouble sleeping in Arkham Asylum. Arkham was a dump, but it wasn't all that bad. He found plenty of ways to entertain himself. And besides, his stays never seemed to last too long.

He was woken up early the next morning by the sound of his door opening. Two hulking apes came into the cell, armed with tasers. Boy, those tasers sure made fun toys. He'd love to grab one of them and stick it in somebody's eyeball. Electro-shock therapy, ha ha!

"Up against the wall, Joker", said one of the brutes, "You know the routine."

"Why yes I do, Harry," said The Joker. He tried to make sure he knew the names of all the members of staff. Plenty of ways to entertain yourself.

The Joker, still in his straitjacket, pulled himself up onto his feet and shambled up to the back wall. The two muscleheads lumbered forward. He was fascinated by the fact that their knuckles came close to literally dragging across the floor. They were like walking cartoon characters. He let out a little chuckle.

The second ape (this one was called Jeff) took out a chain from his belt. While Harry watched The Joker, Jeff attached one end of the chain to a hoop on the back wall, and the other end to a collar fastened around The Joker's neck.

"Sit down," grumbled Jeff.

"Say please, Jeffrey," replied The Joker, his malicious grin growing wider.

There was a moment of tense silence, as Jeff and Harry exchanged glances.

"Sit down, please," Jeff finally grunted.

"Now, we're getting somewhere," laughed The Joker, "No need to forget our manners."

The Joker sat down cross-legged. He'd mastered the art of doing this while in a straitjacket, which is harder than it sounds. He remembered the first time he'd tried it, heh heh, when he wobbled, ha ha, and fell flat on his behind!

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee immediately got their tasers ready, but The Joker smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry - I just had a funny thought. I'm ready for my breakfast now."

While Jeff stood ready with the taser, Harry freed The Joker from his straitjacket. Then the two apes shambled across to the cell entrance, and flanked each side of the door. They gave a signal to someone outside. Then, a smaller, younger man entered holding a tray, with some toast and milk in a plastic cup.

"You must be new here...Greg," said The Joker, glancing at the rookie guard's name-tag, "I've not seen you around before."

Greg slowly approached The Joker, who noticed that, as he placed the tray down on the floor, his hands were shaking. He let out a sudden burst of laughter, almost causing the kid to knock over the tray.

"Ah, you're nervous. Don't worry: they're all nervous the first time! HAHAHAHAHA! But I know something that will make you feel better. I'm just...dying to tell someone. I have discovered the true identity of Batman."

Greg looked over his shoulder, then back at the man he'd read about, been scared of, but had never seen in person until today.

"Who...who is he?" Greg choked out.

The Joker laughed again.

"Come closer, and I'll whisper it to you..."

The rest seemed to happen in slow motion. Harry and Jeff both shouted "NO!" at the same time as Greg leaned in towards The Joker. But it was too late. The Joker, moving as quickly as a flash of lightning, lunged forward, biting down into the rookie's ear. The kid began letting out a high-pitched scream of agony. Jeff tried pulling Greg away, while Harry thrust the taser into Joker's ribs, charging him full of electricity. But he didn't let go of his terrier-like grip. Not until he had bitten clean through the ear.

Jeff rushed the sobbing Greg out of the cell, off to the infirmary. Meanwhile, Harry pinned the stunned madman to the floor, placing handcuffs on him until they could get him sedated and back in the straitjacket. The Joker spat out the ear, laughing as it landed right in his cup of milk.

"Do you think I can make it turn to cheese? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!"

Plenty of ways to entertain yourself...

…

A few hours later, and The Joker was glad to be out of his cell. Oh, they'd all been rather annoyed about the eerie thing he'd done to Greg. Eerie, ear-ey, ha! Hee hee, but they'd come to expect things like that from him now. Maybe he should try and act sane just to throw them off. Now that would be a hoot!

But he was out of his cell, and in one of Arkham's small interview rooms. Out of all the activities in Arkham, there was nothing he loved more than this. The periodical psychiatric evaluation! Oh, The Joker had a great time with these, running circles around those dunces. It was so hilarious, watching them struggle to try and understand him. And he loved making it really hard for them. Once, he'd gone to a library and looked up the textbook definition of a sociopath. Then, when he was sent to Arkham, he just acted exactly like the book said a sociopath would at his psych evaluation. When he broke loose, he went to a different library (he'd slaughtered the entire staff of the last one) and looked up the textbook definition of a schizophrenic. Next time he was caught and sent for a psych evaluation, he acted like a textbook schizo, just to screw with the bigwigs who'd labelled him as a sociopath. Oh, what fun!

The Joker was above being categorized, being understood, especially by these schmucks. He was a whole different kind of crazy! HA HA!

Now, some nerdy young doctor (they brought people in from the outside to run the evaluations) was asking him the mundane questions that were somehow supposed to cast light into the dark, nightmarish void of his mind.

"Okay...uh, Mr. Joker, could you tell me 10 words that begin with P?"

"Why certainly, doctor," said The Joker, "Pies, poison, psychotic, plague, puppies, pestilence, paranoia, pixies, piranhas and...day."

The doctor looked up from his notes.

"Day doesn't start with a P," he said.

"Well, mine usually does," replied the Joker, grinning deviously.

The doctor sighed, scribbling down something in his notes.

"What you writing, doc? Are you writing anything, or just drawing dirty pictures?"

The Joker laughed at the thought, while the doctor blushed. He fumbled through some things on the desk, and brought out a set of drawings.

"Now, Mr. Joker, I want you to tell me the first thing that comes to your head when you look at these pictures."

The first picture was a dog.

"Goldfish," said The Joker.

Second picture - a tree.

"Adolf Hitler."

Third picture - a house.

"Me having sex with your mother," he said, nodding at one of the upper windows on the house, "In that room there."

The Joker threw his head back and burst into whooping laughter.

And the Joker didn't stop laughing until the highly entertaining session was brought to a premature end and he was escorted back to his cell. He could never get over how ridiculous those evaluations were. And he was supposed to be the mad one! Maybe he was sane, and it was everyone else that was nuts! Ha ha, now there's a thought!

But as much fun as he was having here, he was beginning to get bored. It was time to move on, get out of this dump, back out to the big wide world. They wanted to look into his head? Well, when you look into the abyss, the abyss looks right back at you baby, ha ha! Yes, he was going to give the world a little taste of what it was like in his head. It would be so much better if the outside world was more like the crazy little world that he ruled in his mind - it would certainly be a lot funnier!


	4. One Last Chance

CHAPTER 4 – ONE LAST CHANCE

The Bat Signal lit up the night sky. It was a beacon of light that seemed entirely out-of-place amidst the perennial grit and grime of Gotham City after sunset. In a matter of minutes, Batman was on the rooftop of the GCPD building. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd gone through this ritual: called by the signal to a rooftop rendezvous with Commissioner Gordon, where the two beleaguered crusaders of justice would trade words about the nightly horrors unfolding in the city they both called home. He saw the Bat Signal less often these days, since Jim Gordon had retired, but even now, that signal still had to mean something. But on this night, Batman was surprised by who was waiting for him.

"Hello Bats," said Harvey Dent.

And it was Harvey Dent, not Two-Face. His face, once horribly scarred by acid on the left side, was now completely healed, restored through surgery. At last, he looked whole again. He'd been through a lot of suffering over the past few years, and caused a lot of it as well. The days when Dent had joined Batman and Gordon up on this very rooftop, the three men sharing a common cause, felt like a lifetime ago. But seeing him standing here, his handsome features restored, Batman felt a glimmer of hope that Harvey Dent had finally put Two-Face to rest.

"Harvey, what are you doing here?" he asked.

"I wanted to thank you," answered Dent, "For not giving up on me."

Dent began pacing back and forth. He was unconsciously clicking his fingers – probably a substitute for flipping his coin.

"And there's something I want to ask you, Bats," continued Dent, "The current District Attorney is leaving Gotham City. And I don't know why, but…but they're asking me to be DA again."

Dent flashed a ghost of a smile. He looked anxious, unsure of himself.

"Do you feel ready?" asked Batman, "Are you sure this isn't too much pressure?"

"No, I'm not sure of anything," sighed Dent, "But I really want this. After all the terrible things I've done, all the crimes I've committed as…as Two-Face, I just want one chance to make up for all that. I want to help Gotham City, make it into a better place!"

Dent looked over at Batman, a pleading look in his eyes.

"But I want to know that you're on my side, Bats," he said, "You helped me become me again, and I'm only going to take this step if I have your support."

There was a brief silence. It felt like an eternity to Harvey. All these years, trapped in this body with a monster, a powerless observer and a silent accomplice in his own atrocities. Perhaps he'd steeped himself too far in bloodshed to ever come back, burned too many bridges. He didn't want to think that, couldn't bear to. But it all depended on Batman. His last hope dangled on the thread of his response. At last, Batman spoke.

"Go for it," was all he said, before swooping off of the rooftop.

"Thank you," Dent said to Batman, even though he was already gone.

Back in the Batmobile, Batman began his patrol of Gotham City. He felt genuinely happy for his old friend Harvey Dent. Things really seemed to be coming together for him. Batman sincerely hoped it all worked out. If anyone deserved a happy ending, it was Harvey Dent.

…

Harvey Dent did become the new District Attorney. Apart from that, the next couple of weeks passed by with little incident. A few small heists and petty crimes averted, but no major threats cropping up. But throughout it all, Batman felt a small, sick sensation at the pit of his stomach.

He knew that The Joker was waiting, planning, laughing…


	5. Shock Treatment

CHAPTER 5 – SHOCK TREATMENT

The Joker was once again in his cell, busy planning his escape. Oh those silly doctors! If you stick a criminal genius in an empty cell all day, with nothing for him to do, what do you expect him to think about? Not that escape required much thought for him. As far The Joker was concerned, Arkham Asylum may as well put their revolving-door policy when it came to their "treatment" of him in writing. All he needed was one opportunity, and he'd be free to paint the town red once again. He'd gotten breaking out of Arkham down to a fine art.

"You'd think they'd have increased the security budget by now - HA HA!" laughed The Joker, talking to himself.

Just then, the doors opened. Ah, Harry and Jeff again. Must be dinner-time. Up against the wall, chained to the hoop, sit down, straightjacket off, yada yada yada. And now in comes the guy with the tray. It was another new guy today - Greg was obviously one of those guys who couldn't stomach a week before quitting. Ha, the little baby should consider himself lucky he only lost an ear!

Greg's replacement was called Brian. He was bigger than Greg, and looked a bit older too. He sat down the tray in front of The Joker. Soup, smelt like congealed tar flavour - yummy! Then suddenly, Brian took a little plastic baggie out of the soup. Inside was a small revolver. In a flash, Brian had taken out the gun and put a bullet in the heads of the two apes. He liked this guy already, ha ha! Brian took off the collar around The Joker's neck.

"Come on, we can get out of here before anyone notices these guys," said Brian.

The Joker smiled, giving a cheery thumbs-up. He had no idea who this guy was. But if he was breaking him out of Arkham, he wasn't complaining. They went out into the corridor. Brian pointed at the food-tray cart.

"Get in."

The Joker crept into the lower compartment, concealed by a sheet hanging over the sides. Brian was able to wheel him right out of Arkham through the kitchen. Once outside, The Joker got out of the cart, and motioned for Brian to lead the way ahead of him. As Brian walked past him, The Joker snatched the taser off of his belt.

"Hey..." started Brian.

But he didn't get any further before The Joker had thrust the taser into his side, pumping him full of electricity. He'd always wanted to play with one of these things, and now he had! Brian collapsed to the ground, his gun scuttling away.

"Oh, I forgot to say thank you, how rude of me, HAHAHAHAHA!" laughed The Joker, "And it is very rude of you, not telling me who is responsible for my release."

"I don't know!" gasped Brian, "I was hired over the phone, I don't know who's behind your release, damn it!"

"Well, what good are you?" said The Joker, readying the taser.

"Wait wait wait wait!"

The Joker hesitated, tilting his head with amused curiosity at Brian's pleas.

"Why are you doing this, after I helped you?" sobbed Brian, "Why?"

"Why not?" asked The Joker, jamming the taser right into Brian's head.

He held it there until it had fried the guy's brain. Brian started frothing at the mouth, his bulging eyes rolling up into his head. He started spasming madly, and then he was dead. The Joker poked the corpse a few more times with the taser, just for an extra cheap laugh.

Humming to himself, The Joker took Brian's phone, gun and keys, using the keys to let himself out of Arkham's rear gate. He had lots to do! He was going to get into a decent set of clothes, find the person who had him bust out of Arkham, and make Batman's life a living hell - in that order!

Chuckling malevolently to himself, The Joker disappeared into the night.


	6. Your Deepest, Darkest Fear

CHAPTER 6 – YOUR DEEPEST, DARKEST FEAR

As a child, Jonathan Crane had always been afraid. Afraid of his family, afraid of all the other children who bullied him, afraid of life in general. But now, he had mastered fear; he had grown to love it, the psychology of it, the seductive nature of it. And he had decided that he had been afraid long enough. It was time that the rest of the world knew true fear. So he became a figure of terror, a symbol of fear itself. He became The Scarecrow.

On this night, he was in Gotham City Library, pursuing the other passion of his life – literature. He had always loved books – back when he was a college professor, he'd spend his entire salary on them – but it was one particular book that had drawn him here. The Library had just acquired an ancient text, written in Latin. It was a work of one of the legendary philosophers of Ancient Rome, long thought to be lost, with a title that roughly translated as "The Nature of Terror". Crane had studied Latin, and had read of references to the text in other literature. But never in his wildest dreams did he think the book itself would be within his grasp. He'd jumped at the chance to acquire it for himself and, with the help of a few hired thugs, had broken into Gotham City Library to steal it.

"Books are wonderful things, especially books as old as this," Scarecrow said, cradling the text in his arms, "The leathery texture, the sweet, musty smell. It's truly enchanting. Wouldn't you agree?"

Cruel eyes gleaming behind his tattered mask, Scarecrow looked down at one of the security guards. The guard was curled into a ball on the floor, his eyes wide with terror.

"Snakes!" he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. A single tear rolled down his eye.

"Ah, snakes!" Scarecrow hissed, his skeletal frame looming over the guard, "Flickering tongues, venomous fangs, cold, heartless eyes. They're everywhere, there's no escape…"

"Not for you, Crane," came a voice from the shadows.

Scarecrow barely had time to spin round before Batman lunged from on top of a bookcase, his cape spreading out like wings of shadow. He tackled Scarecrow to the ground, sending "The Nature of Terror" sliding across the floor. A small group of thugs, armed with knives, dived in to attack Batman. He easily disarmed each of them, quickly dispatching them with well-placed blows to the back of the head. With the henchmen left in a heap on the floor, Batman turned round to take care of Crane. But he was gone…

Suddenly, a glass vial flew through the air, shattering on the ground in front of Batman. He sputtered and coughed as Scarecrow's fear toxin was released.

_HAHA!_

_In here!_

The Joker! He was here! Cold sweat ran down Batman's cheek as he heard that chilling laughter echo through the library.

"_Brucie! Oh Brucie!"_ The Joker cackled, _"Let's play hide-and-seek! HA HA!"_

Batman staggered among the bookcases, trying to find The Joker. He'd catch glimpse of him, out of the corner of his eye. Going round a corner, ducking behind a bookshelf. But he always just missed him…

_Gonna get you no escape._

_Die!_

_Ones you love…_

Batman could feel the sweat running down his face in pools from under his mask. He could feel the panic swelling within him like a bomb about to go off. He couldn't give in to it, or all would be lost. But how could he not panic when The Joker was hiding in every shadow?

"What are you thinking, Batman?" laughed Scarecrow, his voice sounding like it was miles away, "What is your deepest, darkest fear?"

_Failure parents failed you so sorry…_

_Kill you…_

_Joker!_

Batman collapsed against a pillar, his breath coming out in short, rapid bursts. This wasn't happening. The Joker wasn't here. Scarecrow's fear toxin was playing tricks on him. He couldn't let the fear take over, he had to think rationally. Fumbling through his utility belt, Batman found the serum he'd brought with him, an antidote for the fear toxin. With a trembling hand, Batman lifted the serum to his mouth and hastily drank it. Taking a deep breath, he struggled to his feet.

This was when Scarecrow decided to strike. He actually slid out from in between two bookshelves, kicking Batman in the face before flipping to his feet. He spun round on his left leg, hitting Batman with a backhand fist and a roundhouse kick at the same time. Batman was familiar with Scarecrow's "violent dancing". A mix of kung-fu and capoeira, it was Scarecrow's patented fighting style, as it matched so well with his tall, lanky frame.

"I'll break you, Bat!" Scarecrow declared, "If not your mind, then your body. You will learn to be afraid of The Scarecrow!"

Crane may be a proficient hand-to-hand combatant as well as a criminal genius, but he wasn't in Batman's league. As Scarecrow swung a roundhouse kick, Batman grabbed his foot, pulling him forward and hitting him with a lariat with such force that Scarecrow actually did a mid-air somersault before hitting the ground face-first. His hat landed on the floor about 3 seconds after he did.

"I am not afraid," Batman snarled at Scarecrow just before he passed out, "Not of you…"

Batman tied up Scarecrow and his men, leaving them for the police to take care of. Exhausted, mentally as well as physically, Batman entered the Batmobile and headed for home.

"Alfred, Crane's been taken care of," he said through the intercom, "I'm heading home. It's been a long night."

"I'm afraid I have bad news, Master Wayne," replied Alfred, his voice strained, "It appears that The Joker has escaped from Arkham Asylum."

Batman was rendered speechless. At first, he thought he'd imagined what he'd just heard, that it was just a lingering after-effect of the fear toxin. But then he realised that it was true. The nightmare that had haunted him in his sleep for so long was now going to plague his every waking minute. His nemesis was free once again, most likely plotting a way to destroy him. It looked like the night was going to be even longer than he thought…


	7. A Second Opinion

CHAPTER 7 – A SECOND OPINION

Dr. Tom Barker was a respected psychiatrist in Gotham City. Something of a paradox, some would say. Gotham had gained a reputation as a haven for psychopaths, and the city's most "famous" shrink was Jeremiah Arkham, a man psychiatrists like Dr. Barker viewed as a no-talent hack, and a disgrace to the profession. But while Dr. Arkham regularly let killers and hardened criminals walk free out of his asylum, Dr. Barker tried to set a better example, one of a psychiatrist who could do his job, and offer a service to the city instead of endangering it. Tonight, he was holding his weekly group therapy session for people suffering from clinical depression.

"And...and I just feel so...insignificant," cried Terry, a long-time patient of Dr. Barker, "Sometimes I feel like I just have...nothing to live for."

"Now, Terry, don't feel like that," said Dr. Barker, "You have to be thankful for the life you have. You have to try and just be happy from time to time. A smile will do you a whole lot of good."

Terry started laughing.

"That's more like it, Terry," said Dr. Barker, "Be positive!"

Then Barker realised that everyone in the group therapy session had begun to laugh. Big, booming, chest-bursting laughter, rolling out in heaving whoops. All his patients, they were all doing it, like some kind of….spread of mass hysteria. This realisation somehow started Barker laughing too. This wasn't funny. This wasn't a joke. But somehow, he just…he just had to laugh.

And he kept on laughing, unable to even stop to catch his breath. What was so funny! They were all the same, laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and the tears were streaming from his face now. It was all around him, a deafening symphony of HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Maybe that's what was making them all laugh – a dynamic example of shared experience, the group connecting on a whole new emotional level. Maybe he could write some kind of thesis on that…

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…"

Still laughing, Dr. Barker collapsed forward off of his chair, slumping down onto his hands and knees. This was starting to hurt now. He didn't like this anymore. His mouth was cramping up, the sides of his mouth curled up so far he felt like they were going to rip. But as hard as he tried, as desperate as he was, he couldn't wipe that smile off his face, his mouth just kept on stretching further and further, the pain intensifying. He was afraid now. He wanted to scream, cry, call for help. But he couldn't do any of that. All he could do was laugh…

CRACK

With one violent spasm, he felt two ribs crack. The laughter was getting more powerful, like a machine gun firing inside his body, ripping everything apart in the process. In between peals of laughter, he coughed up a thick wad of blood onto the floor. There was more, but it was catching in his throat because he couldn't stop laughing long enough to spit it out. He was choking on his own blood!

Driven by wild panic, and the all-of-a-sudden very real thought that he could end up dying laughing, Dr. Barker frantically looked around at his patients. Some were on their knees like him, coughing up crimson mists of blood into the air. Others were lying face down, their whole body convulsing as their agonising laughter poured out of their corrupted mouths into the carpet.

And then it happened. His back was thrust backwards by a particularly violent HA! He heard the low, wet crunch. And he continued to hear it as his uncontrollable laughter pushed him further and further back, snapping his upper spine more and more. Ripped in half by his own laughter! What a horrifying way for his life to end…

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…"

Collapsing back into a mangled heap on the carpet, blood clogging his lungs and running in pools out of his grinning mouth, Dr. Barker's laugh turned into a bestial gurgle. It turned out to be his hopeless death-cry.

He was the last one. The whole room, they had all laughed themselves to death. And every corpse lying there had the same nightmarish face: wide, terrified eyes bulging out of their sockets, and the flesh around their mouths pulled back into a monstrous, inhuman grin.

"Aaaah, the healing power of laughter!"

The door swung open, and The Joker stepped in, flamboyantly dressed in a purple suit, complete with hat and coat. He switched off the device he'd placed in the ventilation system that had pumped his laughing gas, a form of his Joker Venom, into the seminar room.

"Ha ha, that's better. Smiles all round! Nothing is duller than depression. What you all needed was a good laugh. Then you were able to die happy! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

This would surely attract Batman's attention. He certainly wanted to keep his old pal busy. And this, this was just the first. The first move of a pawn, the first piece of the puzzle, the first gag in the routine. He was going to take Batman on a one-way slayride to Hell, and this was the first stop. Oh, The Joker had grand plans, alright. When he was done, Bruce Wayne would never be the same.

The Joker entertained himself with this thought throughout his journey back to his hideout. When he got there, he found waiting for him some very important information. Once he'd escaped from Arkham, he'd got in touch with an old underworld contact. This guy had been able to track down Brian's phone records, to find out just who he'd been talking to for the last month. One of those people would be the person who'd hired him to bust The Joker out of Arkham.

The Joker opened the envelope, and took out sheets of paper full of names. He scanned down the list, looking for anyone who stood out. He didn't recognise most of the names. But then one name caught his attention, made his leering grin widen once more.

"Harvey Dent..."

…

Harvey Dent was in the District Attorney's office. It had been a long time since he'd last worked here, and he felt incredibly lucky that Gotham had placed their trust in him to be DA once again, in spite of all he had done.

Harvey walked over to the mirror in his office. It felt great being able to look in the mirror again. He still couldn't believe that the surgery had been a success. He was Harvey Dent again. Two-Face was gone, once and for all...

**"You'll never get rid of me, Dent!"**

Harvey's blood ran cold. He was here!

"Shut up! You're dead - DEAD!"

**"No, I'm very much alive. Just because you changed your face, doesn't mean I'm not still alive - inside..."**

"Go away..." Harvey sobbed, "Why won't you leave me alone."

**"Look at you, cryin' like a baby! This is why I'm not going anywhere. You need me, you snivelin' little wimp!"**

"No, I don't need you, not anymore. I'm the District Attorney now, I can finally help Gotham City."

**"Help Gotham City? Don't make me laugh. We're gonna use the resources we now have to arrest your underworld rivals, leavin' us free to rule over all organised crime in the city!"**

"We're doing it for the greater good! If I run all crime in Gotham - there will be no more gang wars causing innocent bloodshed. Gotham will be a safer place."

**"Don't give me that crap, Dent! You're doing this for power, for greed, for US! If you wanted to make Gotham City safer, would you have had The Joker broken out of Arkham Asylum?"**

"That was your idea, not mine! I was against it from the start. The Joker is...a monster! You said releasing him would keep Batman busy, off our trail..."

**"Trust me, it will. Soon, all those other crimelords will be behind bars, and we will have all their power."**

"And Gotham will be safer. A means to an end, it's all a means to an end..."

"Mr Dent?" shouted his secretary, Betty, "Is someone in there with you?"

"No, Betty, it's fine," called Dent, "I'm just...erm...practising my opening statement for tomorrow."

Harvey Dent sat down at his desk, placing his head in his hands. For years now, Two-Face had been the dominant personality. Harvey Dent had just been a voice trapped within. But now, it was Harvey who had control. But Two-Face was still there, gnawing away inside.

This was all wrong. He wasn't ready for the responsibility of being the DA. It was too much, too soon. Maybe it would be better if he resigned, for now at least. It wasn't too late to just walk away from this plan. But did he really want to give everything up, after he'd come so far?

He couldn't decide. He was going to need help. Slowly, Dent reached into his pocket. It was still there. After all the surgery, all the therapy, he still didn't have the strength to get rid of it. He shivered with fear and self-loathing as he took out his coin. His father's coin. Normal on one side, scarred on the other. Just like he used to be.

He flipped it. It landed scarred side up.

**"I win, Dent. I always win in the end..."**


	8. Old Friends, Old Foes

CHAPTER 8 – OLD FRIENDS, OLD FOES

Jim Gordon, once the Police Commissioner of Gotham City, was now retired, in theory, at least. But in practise, he still seemed to be as immersed in the world of policework as ever. He wasn't sure if it was because they still needed him, or because, as much as he hated to admit it, he needed them.

Standing in his grubby brown raincoat in Dr Tom Barker's office, watching the detectives, uniformed officers and forensics teams do their thing, he really felt like a useless old fart more than ever. But he had to be there, had to feel like he was doing something, _anything_. Gordon had retired after the murder of his wife, Lieutenant Sarah Essen. And the man who had killed her, the same man who had crippled his daughter and put him through years of mental torment, was the one who had murdered Dr. Tom Barker and his patients.

_The Joker…_

When would this ever end? It was a grim, never-ending cycle. The Joker escaped from Arkham, and lives were destroyed, in more ways than one. Then he was caught and locked up, only to escape again. All the victims seemed to blur into one sickening whole, a sea of grinning corpses. Gordon believed in justice, in doing things the right way, never crossing that line that would make him one of _them_. But The Joker stretched Gordon's morals to breaking point, time and time again. He constantly found himself thinking that the world would be a safer, better place without The Joker in it, and as much as he tried not too, a part of him, deep within him, hated himself for not killing this monster when he'd had the chance.

Gordon shambled outside for a cigarette, only to remember that he'd quit smoking because of his angina. He swore under his breath, turning to go back inside. But suddenly, he stopped, his shoulders tensing slightly.

"You should stop sneaking up on me like that," said Gordon, turning to face Batman, "I've got a bad heart."

"The Joker", growled Batman, skipping any form of pleasantries, "What's he done this time?"

Batman was crouched in the shadows, perched on a ledge adjacent to the front stairway. With his cape draped around him, and only the white slits of his eyes clearly visible, he really did look like a ghoul of the night.

"Used his laughing gas on a therapy group for depression," answered Gordon, "Probably his idea of a joke…"

There was a brief pause. Gordon shuffled uncomfortably on his feet.

"Did you hear that Harvey Dent is the DA again?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes," Batman replied, "He told me."

"I remember when the three of us – you, me and Dent – vowed to make Gotham a better place," sighed Gordon, staring out into the gloomy streets, "And now that he's back in the DA's office, it almost feels…"

But when he'd turned back to Batman, he was gone.

"…just like old times," he said to himself, before going back inside.

…

Harvey Dent pulled his car to a stop outside his house. He'd bought the very same house he'd used to live in back when he was last the District Attorney. Back before the accident. The place held many painful memories for him, but he still felt he had to live here again. Just another one of the many ways he tormented himself.

When Dent discovered the front door was unlocked, the first thought that flashed through his mind was that Gilda, his estranged ex-wife, had finally returned to him. But then he remembered that this was Gotham City, and this town trampled on dreams, crushed spirits, and sucked all the life out of any hope of a happy ending. So it was far more likely some burglars had broken into his house. Carefully, he opened the door, and crept inside. The living room lights were all on. Taking a deep breath, Dent walked in, and was shocked to find himself face to face with The Joker.

The Joker was sat back in the armchair in Dent's living room, his feet resting on the coffee table. His coat and hat had been slung over the sofa - he'd made himself right at home.

"Harvey, so good to see you," The Joker said, before theatrically gasping in horror, "But what happened to your face? Did you get surgery? Shame - that was always your good side! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

The Joker threw his head back and burst into laughter.

"What do you want, Joker?" snapped Dent.

The Joker's laughter stopped, though his malicious smile remained.

"Ah, you're right, let's skip the foreplay, and get straight down to the dirty business."

The Joker tossed a file onto the coffee table. Harvey Dent eyed The Joker suspiciously, before picking it up. It was the phone records that showed Dent had contacted Brian, who the police now knew had broken The Joker out of Arkham.

"That's a copy, by the way. I have the original kept somewhere safe. I have to say, I don't know why you busted me out, but whatever the reason, I'm grateful, I assure you. But I need you to do something else for me..."

"I'm not going to help you!" shouted Dent.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" laughed The Joker, "Oh, but you will. That file shows that you contacted the man involved in my escape. Yeah, it isn't 100 proof, but face it - I don't need proof, all it needs is for someone to say you're corrupt, and you're through. People don't forgive easily. You're always going to be seen as Two-Face, no matter what you do. Everyone knows you're a psycho, so they assume that you're going to help other psychos. If this file finds its way to the press, you're done. Everything you've worked for will come collapsing around your ears! HAHA!"

Harvey Dent was silent for a moment. He'd despised The Joker since the first time they'd met, in this very room. The Joker had attacked him on Christmas Day, terrifying his wife. Dent had never forgotten that night, but he also couldn't forget that it was thanks to him The Joker was here right now, and the bastard could prove it. He took a deep breath, before closing his eyes and breaking his silence.

"What do you want?"

"Simple," said The Joker, hopping up to his feet, "I want you to ruin Bruce Wayne. You're the District Attorney; you have a lot of power. I want you to create some evidence that suggests Bruce Wayne isn't as squeaky clean as he seems. Implicate him in fraud, extortion, organised crime. And most importantly, I want you to make him seem like the man who is responsible for my escape. I want it to seem like me and Bruce are best buddies! HA HA!"

Dent felt his gut tightening. He was no fan of Bruce Wayne – he didn't appreciate rich kids who'd had everything handed to them their whole lives – but he didn't deserve to be framed for crimes he didn't commit. Dent's carefully laid out plans were falling apart. He'd wanted to help, but now he was being blackmailed into abusing the trust of those who had helped him regain the post of DA. But if he didn't do this, the betrayals he had already committed against them would be revealed, and he would be ruined all over again.

Be corrupt, and stay in a position to help people, or be honest, and lose everything? Dent couldn't decide. He would have to let the coin decide for him. He took it out and flipped it, feeling The Joker's mad eyes burning right through him the whole time. The coin landed scarred side up.

"Okay," he muttered, "I'll help you."

The Joker smiled.

"That's what I like to hear, old pal."

The Joker slung his arm around Dent's shoulder amiably. He leaned forward, whispering into Dent's ear.

"So, I think you should be...starting your investigation of Bruce Wayne. I'll be contacting you soon with details on the next step of our plan."

The Joker grabbed his coat and hat, and sauntered towards the door.

"I'll let myself out. Adios, Harv! HA HA!"

Sauntering down the street, away from Harvey Dent's home, The Joker was feeling very pleased with himself. Soon, Bruce Wayne would be disgraced, his reputation destroyed. Oh, the sweet irony of the famous crime-fighter being seen as little more than a common criminal!

But that was just the beginning. Oh, The Joker had a grand master plan, and it was only just starting to come together. But the pieces of the puzzle were slowly but surely falling into place. Once his masterpiece of destruction was complete, Batman would never be the same again.

"Oh, Brucie boy, you're going to have a really bad day! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"


	9. Laff Night

CHAPTER 9 – "LAFF NIGHT"

Dr. Alan Greenberg was one of Gotham's most respected surgeons. He'd received offers to work at world-renowned clinics in New York and California, but had chosen to stay in Gotham City, the town where he grew up. Dr. Greenberg was a man of principle, who had become a doctor to help people, rather than for money, and so he felt he was best off staying in Gotham City, the place that needed his help the most. He was a resident surgeon in Gotham City Memorial Hospital, working long hours just about every day. And after a long shift, Dr. Greenberg was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to get home. But he wouldn't he getting home tonight.

A devout believer in protecting the environment, Dr. Greenberg did his little bit by walking home instead of driving the car. For years, he had been able to walk the same route home without any problems, a bona-fide miracle considering the city he'd worked in all this time. But tonight, a few streets from the hospital, he had just stepped onto the road when, out of nowhere, an ambulance came charging down the street, hitting into him at around 40 MPH. Greenberg crashed into the windscreen, before flying over the roof of the ambulance and landing awkwardly on his head onto the road below.

All went black for a few moments. But then, Greenberg's eyes flicked open, and it was like the whole world had been turned on its head. He'd been walking, then all of a sudden he was here with his face pressed against blood-stained tarmac. He was alive, but barely. And his legs! God, he couldn't feel his legs! Just then, he saw the ambulance come screeching to a halt. He was just about to let out a sigh of relief, when the ambulance door opened, and all hope died instantly within him.

The Joker hopped out of the driver's seat of the ambulance. A doctor's white lab coat over his purple suit. In his hand was a small black medical bag. He walked up to the helpless Dr. Greenberg, and knelt down beside him.

"Oh, you're alive," he chuckled, "That's a bonus."

Dr. Greenberg wanted to run away, to scream for help. But his legs weren't listening to his brain's commands, and his throat had ceased up in sheer terror. It was like he was frozen! This…thing had killed so many people, and now he was going to be added to that list, not with a defiant struggle, but with spineless silence, and desperate, pleading eyes. The Joker carefully opened up the medical bag, taking out a syringe. He rolled up Dr. Greenberg's sleeve.

"You can trust me, Alan," whispered The Joker, "I'm a doctor."

He injected Joker Venom into Alan Greenberg's arm, then giggled with sadistic glee as he watched the doctor's face contort into a maniacal grin. The Joker Venom was even deadlier in liquid form than it was as a gas. The formula was concentrated, and killed almost instantly. Eyes practically bulging out of their sockets in a gleeful display of warped pride at his devilish handiwork, The Joker hooked his thumbs into the sides of Dr. Greenberg's mouth, pulling the already-wide grin back even wider.

"Doc, you're dead...and loving it! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

The Joker took off the coat and left it with the medical bag beside Greenberg's corpse. He was leaving the ambulance behind as well, of course. It wouldn't be any fun if no one could understand the sweet, sweet irony of a doctor being run down by an ambulance. So, The Joker would have to walk home. Oh well, he would be doing his bit for the environment. HA HA!

About half an hour later, he entered his recently purchased hideout, and poured himself a celebratory drink. The Boon Dock Bar & Grill had once been a popular haunt in The Cauldron, one of the sleazier areas of Gotham City. But now, the place was in disrepair. It had been closed several years ago, but rather than being reopened under new management, or even demolished, the place had been left to rot, like a carcass on the road-side. Just recently, someone had finally bought up the lease for the property. That someone was The Joker.

With the windows boarded up, and only one naked overhead bulb providing light, The Joker was in near complete darkness. He was sat at one of the tables, now covered with a layer of sawdust and cobwebs, cradling a scotch in his hand. This was one of those rare occasions when he was in a quiet, pensive mood. It would probably pass before long: The Joker went through moods like other people went through tooth-picks. But for now, he stared solemnly at the small stage at the far end of the room. Every Wednesday night, The Boon Dock had held "Laff Night", where regulars could get up and try their hand at a little stand-up comedy. The Joker smiled fondly at the memories of a past life long gone…

But despite that bittersweet feeling of nostalgia, The Joker couldn't shake a niggling feeling of disappointment. Batman hadn't picked up on his handiwork as fast as he'd hoped. He'd already told the first two gags in his routine: the one about the depressed guys who laughed themselves to death, and the one about the doctor who got hit by an ambulance. And then there was the one about the crime-fighter exposed as a criminal. Good old Harvey Dent was helping him with that one. But what reaction was he getting? Nothing.

"Tough crowd," The Joker muttered under his breath.

But not to worry. Brucie was probably just engaged elsewhere. The Joker just needed to do something big to attract his attention, and as it so happened, that's exactly what he had lined up next. Oh, wait until Batman saw this baby – it was going to be a hoot!

The Joker stood up, cracking his knuckles. He swaggered across the room, and limberly hopped up onto the stage. He grabbed onto an imaginary microphone.

"Good evening, Gotham! I am The Joker, as I'm sure you all know. I'm here to tell you a little story. This one had me in stitches! Okay, there's this guy, goes by the name of Bruce Wayne. He's rich, he's famous, he has everything a man could want. But here's the funny part. He feels the need…to be someone else. He isn't happy as Bruce Wayne, no, he has to be both Bruce Wayne… _and_ Batman! HAHAHAHAHA! Isn't that just hilarious?"

The Joker paced back and forth across the stage.

"But who really deserves to have two lives? Certainly not him! So, that's where I come in. I'm going to take both his lives, one at a time. First one, and then the other. And then, Gotham City, you'll belong to me! This city is like a dirty whore, just waiting to be royally screwed!"

The Joker threw his head back, bursting into maniacal laughter.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…"

And he didn't stop, falling down onto his knees as the laughter built and built. He could hear laughter everywhere, all around him. He was laughing, but in his head, everyone else was joining in. At last, they thought he was funny! When they all saw the world the way he saw it - as nothing more than a cruel, sadistic joke - how could they _not_ laugh?

"When you're smiling, when you're smiling," sang The Joker, "The whole world smiles with you! Hee Hee Hee Hee HA HA HA HA HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!"


	10. Those Uncomfortable Silences

CHAPTER 10 – THOSE UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCES…

Selina Kyle was an enigma to Bruce Wayne. She'd gone from being a dangerous foe to an occasional girlfriend, and Bruce felt like the relationship between the two of them was in constant danger of shifting from one extreme to the other. Over the years he'd known her, the two had encountered each other in all kinds of unexpected, dangerous situations. But tonight, it felt like nothing could be stranger than having her over at Wayne Manor for dinner. In his current mood, the last thing Bruce had wanted was a dinner date, but Alfred had insisted that he keep leading life as normal, not to let The Joker disrupt his daily routine. Alfred had said it as if all of his excruciating social engagements as wealthy bachelor Bruce Wayne were what gave his life meaning. Bruce and Selina were sitting in the grand dining room at Wayne Manor, but as usual, she had dragged her chair right up next to Bruce's side of the table, her hand resting on his lap.

The two of them had always shared strange relationship, to say the least. In his younger days, the only women Bruce had seemed to attract were shallow social climbers, batting their eyelids and laughing falsely at everything he said. Then Selina Kyle had entered his life – a dark, enigmatic figure. He felt an instant attraction, maybe because he saw a little of himself in her. But despite over a decade of sporadic dating and flirtation, the pair had ultimately kept their distance from each other.

Things had gotten even stranger when he had discovered that Selina Kyle was the master thief known as Catwoman, a longtime foe of Batman, Bruce Wayne's alter ego. Recently, as Batman, he began a relationship with the apparently reformed Catwoman, with them sharing a closeness they had never experienced unmasked. Eventually, he had revealed to her his true identity. She became one of the few people to know that Bruce Wayne and Batman were one and the same. Now, one more person knew this…

"So, what are you going to do about it?" Selina asked.

He had told her all about The Joker capturing him, unmasking him, nearly driving him to murder. Selina had listened to it all, her stunning green eyes giving nothing away. This was the first time she'd spoke. As usual, she was giving little away…

"Well, I'll have to catch him," was all he said in reply. He wasn't giving away much either.

They both went back to eating in silence. Bruce was wishing he hadn't told her anything tonight. He'd wished he hadn't let her come round tonight at all. He just wanted to start screaming, and throwing the plates across the room. The Joker was out there - he'd already struck twice - and he was sitting here playing the part of the playboy instead of trying to stop him!

"Don't you just hate that?" Selina asked suddenly.

"Hate what?" asked Bruce in return. He'd been lost in his own thoughts, and the question had caught him off-guard.

"Those uncomfortable silences," she replied.

Bruce nodded, before embarking on another uncomfortable silence. Selina had to break this one too.

"I can help you, you know," she said, "I can help you find him."

"No, I can do this myself," Bruce answered bluntly, "This is between me and him."

Selina sighed, dropping her knife and fork on the plate.

"You can't do everything yourself, Bruce," she cried in exasperation, "You can't keep pushing everyone away…"

Bruce slammed his own knife and fork down, with a much sharper thud. He stood up, looming over Selina.

"Don't you get it!" he snapped, "He knows who I am! Everyone close to me is in danger! I'm pushing you away because I'm trying to protect you! I don't want your goddamn help!"

Selina stared up at him, not looking away or even flinching. The two former adversaries glared at each other in tense silence until Alfred tentatively knocked on the door and entered.

"Master Wayne, Miss Kyle," he asked formally, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, everything's fine, I was just leaving," Selina replied, standing up, "Thank you for the lovely meal, Alfred."

Once she reached the door, Selina turned back to face Bruce.

"I don't need your protection, Bruce," she said coldly, "I can take care of myself."

Alfred led her out of the dining room to get her coat, leaving Bruce alone. He sighed, rubbing the side of his forehead with his hand. That's exactly what he felt. Alone…


	11. Danse Macabre

CHAPTER 11 - DANSE MACABRE

It was a crisp, cold night in Gotham City, and The Joker was freezing his nuts off standing out here in the cold. The wind cut right through his lean frame, forcing him to shove his hands deeper into his pockets in a vain attempt to find warmth. But it was all part of the plan. This was going to be something big, something dramatic. And it would certainly heat things up!

The Joker's chain of thought was broken when he spotted that his ride was here. The 267 Bus was at the stop, picking up the queue of passengers. The Joker quietly joined onto the end of the queue. When he got onto the bus, he smiled at the driver.

"I have my ticket...right..."

He pulled out a gun and put a bullet through the driver's head.

"...Here! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

He pulled the driver out of his seat and threw him out of the door. All the passengers began to scream. Some began to run for the doors, but The Joker quickly flipped them shut and drove off at breakneck speed.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I will be your driver for this evening. I'm afraid that there will be a slight diversion to the bus route, so if any of you have appointments, I'm afraid you won't be making them. But look on the bright side - this is going to be the most important day of your lives. And, most likely, the last! HA HA!"

The Joker slammed his foot down on the acceleration, ramming a car off the road. It was time for his next little joke...

…

Batman was crouched on a rooftop, still as a statue, a web of thoughts trailing through his mind. Where was The Joker? When was he going to patch things up with Selina? How long could he keep up this obsessive search? The Joker was out here somewhere, most likely trying to find _him…_

Just then, Batman spotted a bus driving unevenly along the road, swinging back and forth between lanes. Swooping down from the rooftop, Batman barely managed to land on the bus, almost falling off. The driving was getting more erratic by the second. Then, from inside, Batman thought he heard a laugh. He felt the muscles in his stomach tightening as he ran to the front of the bus and looked down through the front window into the bus.

_The Joker._

For what was surely no more than a second, but felt much longer for both of them, the two mortal foes stared at each other, like they had done countless times. But this time was different. There was an added glint to the morbid cheer in The Joker's eye. It said that now, more than ever, they saw each other…and knew each other.

Batman punched through the glass, trying to grab the wheel. The Joker quickly responded by slamming down on the brakes and bringing the bus screeching to a halt.

"Joker," Batman hissed as he punched his enemy in the face.

"Batman," replied The Joker after yelping in pain, "So nice of you to drop in! HA HA!"

The Joker threw 3 razor-sharp playing cards at Batman, more as a distraction rather than a serious attack. But it worked. He was able to scramble out of the broken window, bounce off the front hood, and land neatly on the ground below.

"Come catch me...Bruce," cackled The Joker, running away from the bus.

Batman began to follow The Joker. He couldn't let him get away. Not this time. Once they were both a safe distance away from the bus, The Joker suddenly stopped running. For a moment, Batman was confused, but the horrific realisation hit him when The Joker took out a small trigger.

"Wait a second, wait a second! Just have a look where we are. Now, you're going to want to see this..."

The Joker pressed the button on the trigger, blowing up the bus, and everyone on it. And where were they? Right in front of the Gotham City Fire Department.

"BOOM! Burn baby buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurn!"

Batman felt rage building within him. He wasn't going to give him a chance to laugh that sick, twisted laugh. There was nothing funny bout what he'd done. Every innocent on that bus whose life had just been extinguished had a family, people whose lives would be ruined forever by The Joker's psychotic cruelty. So, before he could even let out a giggle, Batman kicked him right in the temple, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

Batman let out a small moan of despair when he spotted the wreckage of the bus. Nobody could have survived that. Men, women, children - these were _PEOPLE_, but The Joker saw them as nothing more than faceless punchlines. In a fit of inspiration (or possibly desperation), Batman took one of the smaller exploding Batarangs and threw it right onto the hole of a fire hydrant, the cork-like piece exploding and water rushing out towards the bus. Deep down he knew he was just going through the motions, but he wouldn't take the chance of leaving someone to die.

Looking over his shoulder, Batman spotted The Joker picking himself up. Yanking him the rest of the way up by his collar, Batman threw him away, several feet into the air and several yards away. The Joker landed with a thud, skidding along the ground for a few inches.

The Joker felt like he had thrown out his back. He rolled over onto his knees, and with a wince of pain, shakily stood up.

"Heh...heh heh...Batman, I think...it's a little late to save those people in the bus. They're already chargrilled! HA HA!"

Batman began to approach The Joker, who in turn began slowly backing away from him.

"Woah, woah, easy there, Brucie. Now that we...have some privacy, I need to ask you something. What's the point of this lifelong mission of yours, huh? I've been doing some research on you. Mommy and daddy shot dead when you were a little brat, eh? So all this, everything you've done, has all been about you having a chip on your shoulder? HAHAHAHAHA!"

Murderer. Monster. Anti-Christ. All of these words were running through Batman's head as his nemesis mocked him. He _DARED_ to murder people in cold blood, insult him and his parents?! White-hot fury burned in his veins. He wanted to choke the life out of his bleeding carcass.

"I just don't get how you can base your whole life on one little thing," The Joker continued, "Me? I reinvent myself every morning! HA HA!"

Suddenly, The Joker dropped a smoke grenade onto the ground. In the burst of smoke, he was able to make a run for it. But he wasn't going to get too far. He needed help. Hiding behind a fire truck, The Joker took out his cellphone and dialled a number.

"Hello?" said Harvey Dent on the other side.

"Hey, Harv! I need you to pick me up at the Gotham City Fire Department. I'm in a spot of trouble."

"I am NOT going to help you any more, Joker!" snapped Dent.

"Heh heh, you don't have a choice, Harv. If you don't help me, I'll ruin you!"

"Oh right," scoffed Harvey, "So now every time you want something from me, you just twist the screw?"

"If you don't get your ass over here..._RIGHT NOW_," hissed The Joker, all joviality vanishing from his voice like the flick of a light-switch, "You'll find out just how tightly I can twist!"

There was a brief pause.

"I...I'm on my way," said Dent, hanging up.

The Joker put away the cellphone. Okay, now it was just a matter of hiding from Brucie until good old Harv showed up.

…

The frustration was getting to Batman. He'd spent close to fifteen minutes looking for his foe, but he was nowhere to be seen. Surely he couldn't have gone far. And he hadn't. Just when Batman was beginning to think he'd lost him, he spotted him hiding behind a fire truck. Without hesitation, he swooped down in front of him.

"There's two ways we can do this," growled Batman, "Either you can give up now, or you can make my day by trying to fight and making me beat the hell out of you."

The Joker chuckled nervously, backing up against the side of the truck. He really needed to take some kung-fu classes or something, because having Batman kick the snot out of him every time they met was beginning to get very tiresome.

But while Batman and The Joker were in the middle of their confrontation, a new, combustible element was entering the fray. Harvey Dent brought his car to a halt near the GCFD building. He stepped out of the car, and his eyes widened in horror at the sight before him. A bus had been blown to pieces. The flames had been put out, but Dent could just about make out the charred corpses through the smoke.

"Oh my God," he whispered in horror, raising a handkerchief to his mouth.

He felt like he was going to throw up. Staggering forward like a drunk, he spotted Batman inching towards The Joker. Was he really going to help someone who could cause the kind of carnage he'd just seen? He wanted to help Batman stop him! But that would be career suicide. He didn't know what to do! He had to let the coin decide.

He flipped the coin, looking down at the result. Scarred side up. Slowly, he took out his gun, and pointed it at Batman.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Batman," Harvey said, "But you're going to have to let him go."

Batman spun round, finding himself face to face with his tormented friend. So he was involved with this too. He had hoped that Harvey was finally free from the dark forces that plagued his life, but it seemed to follow him relentlessly no matter how hard he tried. Batman was momentarily reminded of his own persona, but he brushed the thought away.

"Harvey…please…put the gun down. Don't throw away the life you've worked so hard to rebuild…"

Watching Batman and Dent, The Joker realised this would provide the distraction he needed. He quietly opened the door to the fire truck, and pulled out a wrench from inside. He swung forward, smacking Batman across the back of the head with it, knocking him to the ground.

"Gooched! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

The Joker dropped the wrench, and turned to Dent.

"Why thank you for that distraction, Harv. But don't kill him yet. I have something special planned for him. Let's just make a hasty exit."

The Joker and Dent made a run for Dent's car. They got inside, and drove away at top speed.

Batman picked himself up off the ground just in time to see them racing away. They were too far away to start chasing, so he had to let them go. Besides, his head felt like it had been split in half. Looking around, seeing no one, he pulled off the cowl so he could check where Joker hit him. He felt around the back of his head, then looked at his hand: blood. Not a good sign. He slammed his fist into the ground in frustration.

"This isn't over.." 


	12. Aftermath

CHAPTER 12 – AFTERMATH

The Joker and Harvey Dent finally brought the car to a halt just in front of the DA's office. The Joker threw his head back and laughed, slapping Dent on the back amiably.

"Thanks for saving me, Harv! But there's one problem. Now Batman knows you're back to your old criminal ways…"

"I'm not a criminal," hissed Dent, "You forced me too..."

"Do you think Batman's going to care about that?" laughed The Joker spitefully, "He sees you as a nut. He'll be glad to put you back in Arkham!"

Dent wanted to tell The Joker that he was wrong, that Batman would understand, that he hadn't just blown his last chance at salvation. But he couldn't say any of that, because it would be a lie. And as much as he wanted to reach over to the passenger's side and wrap his hands around that clown's throat and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze…he couldn't. He just slid back into the driver's seat, silently fuming, his anger twisting him up inside. The Joker got out the car, and then leant back in to continue talking to Dent.

"If I were you, I'd lay low for a while. Batman may know we're working together, but he has no evidence. Our plan may still work. I'll be in touch."

The Joker slammed the door shut, and walked the rest of the way back to his hideout - The Boon Dock Bar & Grill.

Once he got in, he turned on the new lights he'd had installed. Red grid lights along the ceiling. Very nice. The whole incident with Dent being exposed was...unfortunate. Dent's status as DA would be discredited, so framing Bruce Wayne would be more difficult. But as he had said, The Bat had no evidence. Their plan could still work.

The Joker sat down, giving a grimace of pain as his back cracked back into place after being thrown out by Batman earlier. For now, The Joker would continue with his plan. He had already decided on his next victim...

…

Back at the DA's office, Harvey Dent had let himself in. Nobody else was there, he was alone. He was slouched behind his desk, all the blinds drawn shut. His head was cradled in his hands.

What had he done? Now Batman knew he was a fraud, that he was working for The Joker. The fact that he was doing so against his will was irrelevant. It was only a matter of time before everything he had worked so hard to regain would be snatched away from him once and for all.

With a strangled roar of frustration, Dent swiped his arm across his desk, knocking everything to the floor. He sat there for a second, surveying the damage he'd caused. Then he quietly got up, walked round in front of his desk and picked everything up, sitting it all exactly as it had been before.

Within a few minutes, everything was back on the desk, except for one framed photograph, which Dent held in his hands. His new life may be ruined, but he didn't want to let go of the dream just yet. Sitting the photo back on the desk, Dent trudged out of his office, closing the door gently behind him.

…

Meanwhile, at the Batcave, Batman was also returning to his hideout. Loyal as ever, Alfred was there, waiting for him.

"Seeing that you're even more miserable than usual," he said, "Can I assume that you were not successful in catching The Joker?"

"Yes, Alfred, you can," snapped Bruce, pulling off his cowl, "I need you to look at this wound for me."

Batman sat down, and Alfred walked around behind him. Alfred let out a low "tut-tut" under his breath, the same way he did every time Bruce presented him without another night's worth of battle scars. It was the noise you'd expect him to make when faced with a scratch on a car-door. Bruce couldn't help but smile subtly to himself.

"Oh dear, Master Bruce," he said, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, "I'm afraid this is going to need stitches."

"Just get it over with," answered Bruce.

Alfred nodded, taking out his medical kit. And the two men sat in silence as Alfred worked away. They had been through this ritual together so many times that they knew words were not unnecessary. Quite literally an unspoken agreement.

Bruce closed his eyes, blocking out the pain. Sitting like this, Alfred methodically stitching him up, reminded him of his childhood, when his father would look after him after he'd fallen and scraped his knee.

"Trust me, I'm a doctor," dad would say, giving Bruce a wink and a knowing smile.

And then he'd make it all better. Bruce had thought his dad was a miracle worker, that he could solve any problem. And that was one thing that made his parents' death hurt all the more. Alfred had tried, tried so hard, to be a substitute father to Bruce, to be the one who could fix things for him, the one who would always be there for him. But as much as Bruce loved Alfred, and thought of him as family, it wasn't the same. He remembered one painful conversation he'd had with Alfred as a child, shortly after the funeral.

"Dad was always there to make it all better," he'd cried, big fat tears rolling down his cheek, "But who's going to help me now?"

For as long as he lived, Bruce would never forget the pain on Alfred's face on that day.

"Master Bruce," he'd replied, "Some wounds never heal…"


	13. Monsters

CHAPTER 13 - MONSTERS

6 year old Nancy Loomis had been convinced for quite some time now that there was a monster in her closet. When the light was out, she was terrified that the closet door would slowly creak open, and a pair of glowing red eyes would emerge out of the darkness. Then some dark, unimaginable beast would lurk out of that dark void, slowly crawling towards her. Nancy would want to scream, but her pleas for help would choke and die in her throat. Inside she would be screaming for her Mommy and her Daddy to come and help her but outside she'd be silently mouthing "No no no..." and there would be nothing she could do and the monster would take her away forever and she would never see Mommy and Daddy again!

But tonight, she wasn't frightened. There was a monster in her room. But he wasn't in the closet. He was sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Shhhhh..." said The Joker.

"Are you a clown?" asked Nancy.

"Well, you could say that," chuckled The Joker, "I'm here to make you laugh."

Nancy giggled.

"You see, Nancy," continued The Joker, "We're going to play a little joke on your Daddy."

"What kind of joke?" Nancy asked inquisitively.

The Joker smiled, taking a tiny little bottle out of his pocket.

"Have a drink of this and you'll find out..."

…

Stan Loomis was a popular celebrity in Gotham City. He presented a late night talk show, but was better known for his extensive charity work. Every year, he figureheaded a charity event designed to raise money to help children in need all over the world - from impoverished children in Africa to kids in Gotham who had been orphaned.

On this night, he had been at a Charity Ball with his wife, Gloria. They arrived home later than they'd planned, and found the babysitter sleeping on the sofa in the living room.

"Gloria, tell Sonia she can go home now," said Stan, "I'm going to go upstairs and check on Nancy."

Nancy was Stan's pride and joy, the most important thing in his life. His charity work for children stemmed from his own status as a father. Every night, he always had to say goodnight to little Nancy, even if she was already asleep. But when he opened her bedroom door on this night, his whole world came crashing down around him.

Nancy was dead. Her face contorted into a ghastly, horrifying grin. A small but lethal dose of Joker Venom. The Joker was long gone by this time. He left the same way he got in - through the bedroom window. The Joker loved the irony of a man famous for saving children being unable to save his own. But this irony didn't dawn on Stan Loomis.

He was too busy screaming.

…

The death of Nancy Loomis was all over the news the next day. The reports would show pictures of little Nancy, smiling sweetly "in happier times", followed by stock footage of The Joker, and then a shot of Stan Loomis. Pale, shocked, a broken man. Everyone was shocked by the news, but one person spent the whole day watching it over, and over, and over. Harvey Dent knew that he was to blame for all of this.

Why had he set The Joker free? For the greater good? What good had come of it? The Joker had gone on a killing spree, was blackmailing him, and had now murdered an innocent little girl. And it was him who had unleashed this psychopath. He was responsible. That little girl's blood was on his hands…

Dent staggered out of his living room, rushing to the bathroom and throwing up. He turned on the sink, washing the sick off his face. He looked up at the mirror on the medicine cabinet. It didn't matter if he was disfigured or not. He still despised what he saw looking back at him.

With a shaking hand, Dent picked up his shaving razor. He pressed it against his left cheek, holding it in until a trickle of blood began to run down his cheek…

"NO!"

With an angered scream, Dent tossed the razor across the room. He slid down to the ground, curling himself up in a ball. He hated himself, but he wasn't about to let _him_ come back. Not Two-Face. Never again. He'd made a mistake, one he'd never forgive himself for, but he was not to blame for this. The Joker was. And Dent knew what had to be done…

"**Are you crazy? We need The Joker right now!"**

"I don't need him, or you. This is my decision. The Joker has caused enough pain and suffering. It has to stop!"

Dent got up, walking into the hallway. He picked up the phone, and dialled The Joker's number.

"Meet me at Gotham Bridge," he said when The Joker answered, "We need to talk."

Before The Joker could reply, Dent hung up. He pulled on his coat, and then opened a drawer. He took out the gun from inside, tucking it in his inside pocket.

"This ends tonight…"


	14. Gotham Bridge

CHAPTER 14 – GOTHAM BRIDGE

Batman had just arrived at Harvey Dent's home. As much as he hated to say it, he was going to have to..."talk"...to Harvey Dent, who seemed to have somehow aligned himself with The Joker. But just as he was approaching the house, he saw Dent getting in his car and driving off.

He followed him to Gotham Bridge, stopping at the far end and turning on one of the more advanced parts of the Batmobile: a camouflaging system. It was clear what was happening. Dent wasn't out here at Gotham Bridge in the middle of the night to catch a breath of fresh air. He was meeting someone. And Batman was fairly sure that it would be The Joker. So rather than striking right away, Batman waited, hoping to ambush both of them.

…

The Joker was sitting in his hideout, contemplating his next move. Dent had called him, wanting to meet at Gotham Bridge. The Joker had said he'd be there, but something wasn't right. Why was Dent calling him? And why meet at Gotham Bridge?

But what was The Joker going to do? No show? Not an option. And he wasn't about to show up with bodyguards, look weak in front of pathetic little Harvey Dent. Since Two-Face had been pushed to the sidelines, Harv was a shadow of his former self. He didn't have the balls to try anything. No, he'd be fine. And he knew just how to make sure of that.

Chuckling softly to himself, The Joker exited The Boon Dock Bar & Grill, hopping into a stolen car.

"To Gotham Bridge!" he said to himself, driving off to the location. 

The city was like a ghost-town, at the time of night. The Joker gazed out of the car window with curious eyes, spotting the odd lost soul wandering through the haunted streets. If The Joker was the Devil, like some said he was, then Gotham City was surely his own personal Hell.

After a few minutes, he'd arrived at Gotham Bridge. He stepped out of his car, wearing his coat and hat. He spotted Dent, wearing a black coat, standing by the bridge. He looked like hell, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. The Joker approached him.

"Harv, nice to see you again. But I was supposed to call you, not the other way around..."

Dent's lip curled in hatred. With a clenched fist, he walked right up to The Joker, staring spitefully into his face.

"Listen Joker, you killed someone, but not just anyone. You...you killed a child! A...goddamn child, that did nothing but LIVE! What did you do? Why? Couldn't you be human just ONCE!?"

Dent had a desperate, manic look in his eyes. The Joker was beginning to feel slightly intimidated. He laughed nervously.

"Harv, you've got to learn how to take a joke! HA HA!"

There was a brief moment of tense silence. Dent was almost trembling with anger. Dent didn't know who he hated more - The Joker, or himself for setting him free. He was going to do what he should have done a long time ago.

"Okay Joker, this is my favourite joke!"

Harvey pulled the gun out, and pointed it at The Joker. The mad clown smiled as the realization of what was going to happen hit him. Harvey's hand trembled. Two-Face was a killer. But could he, Harvey Dent, bring himself to murder? In this case, yes he could. He pulled the trigger, shooting The Joker in the chest.

"Ouch!" gasped the Joker.

He stumbled backwards and toppled over the edge of the bridge. Laughing all the way down, he fell into the water. The Joker hit the water with a splash. He'd been shot again, just his luck. But at least he could see the funny side. He kept on laughing. Even though it made him hurt all over, he kept on laughing. Even when he started choking on the filthy Gotham water, he kept on laughing.

He only stopped once he'd disappeared under the murky waters...

"Yeah, I find it funny too," Dent said, walking away from the bridge.

But then he stopped. Slowly, he turned round, walking up to the edge of the bridge, where The Joker had just fallen. He took his coin out of his pocket, balancing it between two fingers.

"Why did I need this?" Dent asked himself, smiling faintly.

He flicked it away, letting the coin – and Two-Face with it – drop to the water below.

…

Things had happened too fast, even for Batman.

He knew that Two-Face and The Joker were never "pals," and that any possible team-up would end up bottom-up. But one moment they were talking, then there was something about a child murdered, and the next Harvey was putting a bullet into The Joker's chest. By the time he had prepared the weapons in the Batmobile to intercede, The Joker was already in the river and Dent was throwing his coin into the water.

When The Joker disappeared under the water, the first thought Batman had was, scarily enough, "The bastard deserved it." The next was to stop Harvey from escaping. He didn't know if it was Harvey or Two-Face pulling the strings, but nonetheless, he needed to get to him fast.

Batman sent a smoke missile off right beside Dent, causing him to start running. Switching on the infra-red in the Batmobile's windshield, Batman drove onto the bridge, intercepting Dent. Batman leapt out of the vehicle, grabbing Dent by the throat.

"Who is it now, Harvey, or Two-Face?"

"Batman, please!" Dent gasped through Batman's stranglehold, "It was my fault for letting the Joker live, and my fault for not keeping Two-Face under control."

Feebly grasping at the hand gripping onto his throat, Dent looked pleadingly at Batman.

"Please, Batman, everything I did wrong, it was all Two-Face!" he continued, "But I'm just Harvey now. Two-Face is dead along with The Joker, please believe me! The Joker was blackmailing me, I had to help him. But when he killed that little girl, I…oh God, I'm so sorry!"

Batman looked into his eyes to see if he was really telling the truth. He stared at him for what felt like hours, trying to find the lies filling up. Nothing. Batman let Dent go, and he collapsed to his knees, coughing for a moment. He picked himself back up and faced Batman.

"Alright, Harvey," he asked, "What exactly did The Joker plan to do?"

"Well, his murders were something to do with ironic deaths," explained Dent, "But he had an obsessive focus on Bruce Wayne for some reason, I don't know..."

Harvey Dent stopped. He'd realized something, a stunning truth that had been staring him in the face for years.

"Oh my God!" Harvey gasped, "Bruce, you're Batman!"

Batman winced internally. Dent had figured it out. There was no use denying it, not now. There were bigger things going on right now that had to be addressed. And Batman recalled that, before he'd been disfigured in that courtroom, he'd been about to reveal his secret identity to Dent.

"What was he planning to do with me?" he finally asked.

"He was planning to frame you," Dent replied, "But I'd say that was just part of a larger plan. The attempt to frame you, the murders, they're somehow linked, part of the same puzzle. But I just can't solve it."

"I think I know who can," said Batman, leading Dent to the Batmobile.

This felt surreal, having a former foe, a man who'd tried to kill him many times in the past, sitting next to him in the Batmobile. But he might just need his help.

…

While Batman and Harvey Dent were on Gotham Bridge, dealing with the aftermath of The Joker's death, The Joker, very much alive, washed up on the shore a good distance downstream.

The Joker crawled onto the land, coughing up filthy water. He lay on his back, laughing to himself. Sitting up, he unbuttoned his coat and threw it to the ground. Underneath he was wearing a Kevlar vest, which had caught the bullet Dent had fired into his chest.

"Heh heh. Harv, you shouldn't have thought I was going to trust you."

Pulling off the vest, The Joker discovered something caught in his collar. A small coin, scarred on one side. Dent's coin.

"I think I'll keep this. Never know when I might need it."

The Joker stood up, wincing in pain. His injured back was acting up again. Trying to ignore the pain, he began walking, heading vaguely in the direction leading back to his hideout.

It seemed like the little alliance with Dent hadn't really worked. But Harv's betrayal wasn't a total disaster. No, having Brucie think he was dead was actually a bonus. And besides, even without help from the DA, The Joker had the perfect way to ruin Bruce Wayne.

"Brucie, you're going to love this. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"


	15. An Unexpected Guest

CHAPTER 15 – AN UNEXPECTED GUEST

The Penguin strolled through the Iceberg Lounge, admiring the little empire he'd built. He had come a long way from the colorful criminal who attacked The Batman and Gotham City with his bird and umbrella themed crimes. Now he had got cleverer in the accumulation of his ill-gotten gains, like a wily old buzzard who no longer feared being caged.

But his immunity was in danger of being ended if Harvey Dent succeeded in this campaign of his. Dent, back in the DA's office, wanted to bring down all the leading underworld figures, The Penguin being prominent amongst them.

And being directly connected to the underworld grape vine, The Penguin heard all sorts of information. And the juiciest piece of info was that The Joker was secretly in cahoots with Dent. The Penguin called in his assistants, Jay, Raven and Lark.

"I have a job for you my dears," The Penguin said, "I want you to arrange that word spreads about me wanting to meet with The Joker here after close of business hours."

The women nodded, quickly exiting the Lounge.

"If anyone is in the perfect position to help me with my little Dent problem, he is," The Penguin said to himself as he waddled away, swinging his umbrella merrily.

…

The Penguin was a man of great influence. If he wanted a piece of information spread, it spread very quickly indeed. And so, at The Boon Dock Bar & Grill, The Joker soon found himself on the phone. One of his street-level snitches had contacted him with an interesting tidbit of information.

"So, The Penguin wants to see me, does he? This could be interesting. I'll be sure to pay him a little visit later tonight. Thanks for the info."

The Joker ended the call, turning back to the man he had tied to a chair. This nobody sat in front of him would be playing a very important role in his plan.

"Life's funny, isn't it? One day, you can be on top of the world, full of hopes and dreams. The next day you can be dead. Or maybe you just wish you're dead, your whole life ruined. Or maybe, just maybe, you could wind up going totally bonkers- just like me! HA HA!"

The Joker let out a dark, sinister giggle.

"But that's what I've always said. All it takes is one bad day. One bad day, and anyone could end up as crazy as I am. But madness is...how can I say it? It's a gift! Yes, that's what it is. I mean...look at me! You should have seen what I was like before. Heh heh, I was a nobody, just like you. Going crazy was the best thing that ever happened to me!"

The Joker leaned in close to the man. He'd captured the guy while he was out shopping for groceries. He never knew what hit him.

"I know how you're feeling. You're scared, aren't you?"

"I am not scared of you," said the man.

The Joker chuckled.

"Well, you should be," he replied with soft menace, "But it is admirable that you can stare fear in the face. You are quite the fighter. And I'm glad. It's not as fun when people die quietly."

The Joker picked up a knife from a nearby table.

"I bet you haven't had a significant day in your life. But you're significant to someone, aren't you. Somebody loves you. And that's why you are so useful to me. I'm going to...heh heh... leave a little message with you. This is going to hurt. A lot."

The Joker began carving a message into the man's chest with a knife. The man's face contorted in pain, and he bit down on his lip so hard that it began to bleed. But he didn't scream. He never screamed.

REMEMBER WHAT DAY IT IS. That was the message carved into the man's chest. Oh, the meaning that little message held. That message pointed to another irony, possibly the sweetest irony of all. This was one joke that would crush his nemesis forever.

"Life's funny, isn't it...Alfred?"


	16. Q & A

CHAPTER 16 – Q & A

Questions. Edward Nygma's life had always been dominated by questions. Who am I? What is the meaning of this cruel, savage game we call life? Why do all the other kids hate me, mom? When am I finally going to beat the Batman? How do I make them respect me? People travelled into space, or went to church every Sunday, in search of the great unknown. But there was no greater puzzle than life itself. Life was a riddle, so who better to solve it than The Riddler.

Since his recent release from Arkham, The Riddler had been keeping a low-profile. And for some reason, he felt empty when he wasn't out there, committing crimes. God, he didn't know why – he wasn't any damn good at it. Well, actually, that was the sad part. He was a genius – that he knew – and his elaborate crimes were so masterfully pulled off that if he could only do the crime and lay low, no one would be able to catch him. But, it was…the questions. They always came back to haunt him.

One of the quacks at Arkham called it a form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The Riddler couldn't commit a crime without leaving clues, borne from a deep-seated compulsion to tell the truth. His answer to this, ironically enough, questions, in the form of riddles. But Batman always solved them in the end. And so, he always got caught, and was seen by the world as a joke – a failure that couldn't even succeed at being a crook.

But the world was wrong. He was no joke; he was more than pathetic little Edward Nygma that all the kids beat up after school. He was The Riddler, a criminal genius. Oh, how they scoffed when he said that. They didn't believe he was smart? Well, if he wasn't, how could he have figured out that Batman was Bruce Wayne? When it all came down to it, the mystery of Batman's identity was a riddle – one that he had solved.

The Riddler was letting all these thoughts roam through his mind as he breezed through a crossword. A five letter word that describes something ridiculous. His concentration was broken by the ringing of the doorbell. Getting up, Nygma walked over to the door, opening it to find Harvey Dent standing there.

"Harvey! Come on in," said The Riddler.

Dent walked inside, looking around at the cluttered apartment. The floor was covered with cut up newspapers, and the unwashed dishes were piling up by the sink.

"Nice place," Dent said.

"Yes, very cosy," Nygma replied, "Question: What is the District Attorney doing coming to a known criminal's place of residence all by himself…"

"He's not alone."

The Riddler spun round to where the voice had come from. Batman was now in the apartment, crouching by the open window.

"You can't arrest me, Batman," gulped The Riddler, "I'm in the process of rehabilitation…"

"I'm not here to arrest you!" snapped Batman, "I'll do that next week, when you start committing crimes again. Right now, I want you to answer some questions we have about The Joker."

"The Joker?" The Riddler asked, "How is the clown these days?"

"Dead."

"Oh."

"But before he died, he found out that I was Bruce Wayne."

The Riddler quickly looked over his shoulder at Harvey Dent.

"Don't worry, I already know," explained Dent.

"And I need to know what he'd been planning," Batman continued, "In case he'd set anything into motion before he died. Since his release, he's killed a therapy group of manic depressives with laughing gas, ran over Dr. Alan Greenberg with an ambulance, blown up a bus full of people in front of a fire station and murdered Stan Loomis' daughter. He was going to blackmail Harvey into using DA resources to frame me…"

"…Until I killed him," finished Dent.

"Congratulations, Harvey," said The Riddler, "The world's better off without that maniac running around killing everybody in sight. Such widespread murder is so…vulgar. Question: what's far more gratifying to a criminal than killing someone? Answer: Outsmarting them. Now onto your query, Bruce…"

"Call me Bruce again and you'll be spitting teeth," snarled Batman.

"Okay…erm…Batman, let's look at his crimes. Many said that The Joker was just a lunatic that killed randomly. But you above anyone else should know that The Joker was a master planner, that his actions only _appeared_ to be random. So, Question: How are all these murders linked?"

"Irony," answered Batman, "He was telling a sick joke with each killing…"

"Yes, well that's The Joker for you, isn't it?" sighed The Riddler, "But what sets these particular killings apart? These were all part of one joke – it's just that he never got to the punchline. I read about the therapy group in the paper – Tom Barker died too, right?"

"Right," said Batman.

"He was a renowned psychiatrist – people in certain circles would even call him a hero for the theories that he had published in the past few years. Same could be said about Greenberg – a local hero. The fire department, well that speaks for itself. Ever since 9/11, people have looked at firemen like they were the reserve team of the JLA. And Stan Loomis is widely known for his links to children's charities – a real modern-day saint."

The Riddler began pacing back and forth in the apartment, talking to himself as much as his guests.

"Question: Was The Joker's aim to kill his intended targets? Answer: No. Every one of his crimes involved a death, and I'm sure The Joker enjoyed every minute of it, but the deaths themselves were incidental in relation to the main point, the "joke", if you will. What he's doing is targeting heroes, and showing that, for all the good they do, when it comes to their own lives, they are powerless."

The Riddler stopped pacing, coming to a halt in front of Harvey Dent.

"Of course, we have to assume that Batman is at the centre of all this. He'd just found out his secret identity, and if he'd ever gotten to the punchline, Batman would have been involved. But Batman was only ever directly targeted through you, Harvey? And in my opinion, that part of his joke wasn't targeted at The Dark Knight. No, he was targeting you, Mr. Dent. Think about it – your ruined face has been fixed; you've overcome all kinds of adversity to get back into the DA's office. And now you are stating your intentions to bring down organised crime for good. You're a hero, Harvey. Question: How is The Joker going to make you powerless? Answer: By making you betray everything you believe in. Which brings us to the big riddle: you're not just a hero, Batman, you're a superhero. So how would The Joker have planned to bring you back down to Earth?"

The Riddler turned to face Batman, but he was gone.

"Oh, he does that sometimes," said Dent, "I'll let myself out."

"Always a pleasure, Harvey," The Riddler replied, watching Dent walk out the door.

Well that was certainly different. The Riddler thought about how he really needed to get a new hideout. One that superheroes couldn't stop by to visit whenever they felt like it. And not only that, but the District Attorney was making house calls too!? What the hell was this, some kind of…

"FARCE!" exclaimed The Riddler, returning to his crossword. One more question answered…


	17. A Drink With Mr Cobblepot

CHAPTER 17 – A DRINK WITH MR COBBLEPOT

At The Iceberg, The Penguin's casino, it was after hours. Most of the building was closed off, with the lights dimmed. But in the lounge, The Penguin was sitting with Bruno, one of his henchmen. The waiter arrived to pour the men some wine.

"I don't see why you need The Joker anyway," said Bruno, sipping his wine, "And by the looks of it, he's not going to show uh...uhHAHAHAHAHA HEE HEE HO HO HA HA HA!"

Bruno's face pulled back into a hideous grin, and he collapsed dead onto The Penguin's lap. The Joker, dressed as a waiter, leaned forward, chuckling devilishly.

"More wine, Mr. Cobblepot?"

The Penguin looked with mild amusement at The Joker, stood there in a waiter's uniform, having just murdered Bruno.

"I see you got my message then," The Penguin said softly.

The Penguin pried Bruno's body off his lap with his umbrella and tossed him on the floor.

"If you're going to kill one of my employees every time we meet I may have to start charging you," he grumbled, "Good help is so hard to find."

The Joker seated himself across from The Penguin and cupped his hands under his chin.

"And what can I do for you Ozzie old boy?" he asked with a smile.

"The reason I called you here is simple," The Penguin replied, "I need your help. You are in a unique position to eliminate a problem I would very much like to get rid of. And that problem is Harvey Dent."

Joker's expression didn't change. He continued to sit there smiling that lunatic smile of his at Penguin, who promptly continued.

"As I'm sure you know, Harvey and I were never the best of friends. Frankly I never truly trusted him. Half of him was still an upright do-gooding citizen. And The Batman so frequently played on that to his advantage."

The Penguin stood up and lit a cigarette, beginning to pace up and down.

"And now it seems his good side has completely taken over. He's Mr. Upright Citizen again, back in the DA's office and planning to crack down and take out all the major underworld figures of Gotham."

Penguin turned around and began shouting, his façade of charm quickly slipping away.

"And that includes ME!!! Dent knows of some of my dealings. He still has connections. He could destroy me if he really tried. And I believe he will. It will set him in good graces with the law and the Bat. He'll be in the DA's office until he's 100 years old if he pulls this off!"

The Penguin calmed himself down, tugging at his collar.

"Which is why he must be stopped post haste. Now, knowing what an upstanding citizen I am, I cannot simply walk up to him and shoot him, nor can I hire some hitman to kill him, as the Bat is watching him closely and will track me down and fall on me like a ton of bricks. That's a headache I don't need right now."

The Penguin leaned in a little closer and smiled at the Joker.

"But a little birdy tells me that you and he have some little alliance going. I don't know what exactly you're both up to and frankly I don't care. What I will offer you is worth more than anything Dent can offer. I want you to kill Dent. If you kill him it cannot be traced back to me. And who is going to question your motive? You are The Joker. You kill for amusement, you kill for boredom, you kill because you're crazy!"

The Penguin stood back up and took another puff from his cigarette holder.

"5 million to ice Dent. Cold hard cash. What do you say Joker? Are you willing to put a permanent smile on Dent's face for me?"

The Joker smiled at The Penguin's proposition. It was clear that old Ozzie-boy liked the sound of his own voice. But The Joker loved the sound of his own voice even more. Now it was his turn to talk.

"Interesting idea, Oswald. I can assure you that I would have no problem in killing Dent. It's hard working with someone like that. After all, he's crazy!"

"Indeed," said The Penguin.

"But sadly, Harv brought our little alliance to an end by shooting me off of Gotham Bridge earlier this evening. How embarrassing, a double-crosser being double-crossed! But, on the plus side, that gives me another motive for killing him...revenge."

The Joker paused. There was something he wanted to add. He took out Dent's old coin from his pocket, casually flipping it in his hand.

"But where's the fun in just killing him? I have an idea, something that will be even more satisfying, for both of us. Something far more...funny..."

The Joker leaned forward, whispering his plan into The Penguin's ear. He then leaned back into his chair.

"And, since I wouldn't be killing him, I'd be willing to take a reduction on your initial offer. I'll settle for 4 million. The look on Dent's face will be worth more than money can buy. HA HA!"

The Penguin removed his monocle and began wiping it with his handkerchief.

"And that will be the end of his career as the DA," he finally said, "Now tell me, you didn't poison that whole bottle, did you?"

"No, of course not, Ozzie," chuckled The Joker, "Just your flunky's glass. Why waste a whole bottle of such a…fine vintage?"

The Penguin placed his monocle back on and sat back down. He poured two fresh glasses of wine, pushing one over to The Joker with his umbrella.

"Let us drink to our deal. The end of Harvey Dent and the rise of The Penguin."

They toasted and took a sip of the wine.

"As for your fee," The Penguin added, "If you succeed in pulling this off and getting rid of Dent then your fee will stand at 5 million. Call it an extra incentive to pull this off right."

"I'll drink to that," cackled The Joker, raising his glass again.


	18. The Laughing Game

CHAPTER 18 – THE LAUGHING GAME

Alfred slowly re-emerged back into consciousness. He had been in life threatening situations before, but nothing quite like this. But he had to survive, he had to. Master Bruce, in his current state, couldn't possibly take the strain of his death.

"Oh, Master Bruce..." Alfred said under his breath.

How he hated to be a burden. In this vulnerable state, he was a sitting duck for a psychopath like The Joker to kidnap him. He should have been stronger, should have been smarter. Now he was going to die, and in the process make life hell for Bruce.

Then he noticed the gun. The Joker had left it behind. It was sat on the table, just in front of him. Alfred wouldn't be able to get out of this place, even if he did escape from the chair he was tied to. He was locked in. But if he could...if he could kill The Joker, and use his phone to call for Master Bruce to come and help him. If he could just do that, he would be fine.

Alfred struggled, and winced in pain, but he was eventually able to untie the various knots and free himself from the chair. He grabbed the gun, pointing it at the door. And then he waited, not daring to move a muscle, envisioning what he had to do. Master Bruce would have a hard time forgiving him, of course, for killing The Joker. He was against killing, and so was Alfred. But…he wasn't as strong as Master Bruce. He didn't have the resolve, the conviction to let such a monster live any longer. One shot. One bullet. And would all be over.

The time felt like an eternity in passing, but just a couple of minutes later, The Joker returned, still wearing the waiter outfit, his hands buried in his pockets. He was laughing softly to himself, but the smile vanished when he spotted Alfred, aiming the gun at his chest.

There was a brief moment of silence. The Joker and Alfred, two key figures in Batman's life, were face to face. It had all been so simple for Alfred, when he'd envisioned it in his head. But now that The Joker was actually in front of him…he hesitated. For all these years, Batman could never bring himself to kill The Joker. But could Alfred? Even for the greater good? Yes, God forgive him, he could. So Alfred pulled the trigger. The Joker was blasted off his feet, a red spray flying forward. He lay on the ground twitching, a strange gurgling noise escaping from his lips, then he lay still.

Alfred let out a pained sigh, letting the gun drop to the ground. It was done. His breath came out in one long, ragged exhalation, as if he had just dropped a heavy burden from his shoulders. His chest still felt like it was on fire – after The Joker had carved his sick message into it – but the shock and intense relief made it hurt just a little less. He spotted the phone lying on the floor. It must have fallen out of The Joker's pocket. He grabbed it, dialing the phone in the Batmobile. The answering machine! He must be out of the Batmobile at the moment, probably looking for The Joker. He'd have to leave a message.

"Batman, Alfred speaking. I have been kidnapped by The Joker. I am fine, please, do not worry about me. But The Joker is dead. I need you to come here and help me. I am at...The Boon Dock Bar & Grill. I hope to see you soon."

Alfred hung up. Just then, he heard the sound of applause. A slow clap….clap…..clap, each one feeling like a knife stabbing deeper and deeper into his soul. His blood ran cold. He turned round to see The Joker standing there, a malevolent grin on his face. 

…

Batman knew now. He knew what The Joker's plan had been. The more The Riddler talked, the surer he was. It was Alfred. He had gone after Alfred. He'd tried calling Wayne Manor – no answer. Had The Joker already killed Alfred? One last cruel joke before his death? Even from the grave, he was laughing at him…

And then he got the call.

The first thing that hit him was relief. Alfred was alive. Thank God. The second thing to hit him was that The Joker was still alive. Or, at least, had been still alive until Alfred shot him. A feeling of self-disgust washed over him. Because he'd been unable to finish the job and kill The Joker, Alfred had to do it.

"Harvey, we're going to The Boon Dock Bar & Grill," he said, "We need to pick up Alfred."

Throughout his childhood, when he'd lost his parents, Alfred was always there for him. Now, he wanted to be there for Alfred in his time of need.

…

"Bravo, old chap, bravo!" laughed The Joker.

"But I shot you..." started Alfred.

The Joker interrupted him by pulling off his top. Taped to his chest were various blood pellets. The Joker took the trigger out of his pocket.

"Do you seriously think I would leave my gun in here?" asked The Joker, "That gun was full of blanks. I wanted you to think I was dead, partly because I wanted you to make the call to our friend Brucie, and partly because I wanted to give you a false sense of hope. I know…ain't I a stinker?"

The Joker giggled maliciously. The look in his eyes – the cold, cunning hatred of a heartless killer - told Alfred that there was no hope. None at all.

"You can kill me if you want," declared Alfred, standing tall, "But killing me will not kill Bruce Wayne. It may hurt him, yes, but Master Bruce has endured pain before, and survived it. Because he is stronger than you, better than you. He is a great man, and you're just too small to know it..."

The Joker slapped Alfred across the face, knocking him to the ground.

"I don't look so small from down there, do I!?" The Joker snapped.

Alfred felt the trickle of blood running down his cheek. Then he noticed the small needle fitted onto The Joker's glove in the form of a hand-buzzer. He put two and two together, but it was too late. There was only enough time for one last, desperate thought to run through his head.

_Master Bruce…I've failed you…_

And within seconds, Alfred was dead. It didn't matter how strong he was, how brave, how determined he was to live on for the man he loved like a son, he died with his face pulled back into a psychotic grin, just like all the others. The Joker kneeled down, whispering into his ear.

"How does it feel to actually smile for once, old man? How does it feel to be in on the joke? HA HA!"

The Joker walked away from the body, changing into the fresh purple suit he'd set aside earlier. Now he was going to have to take a step back, and let all the pieces of his grand master plan fall into place. Batman would be on his way. And what a surprise he had waiting for him.

"It's been a pleasure, Alfred. Toodles! HA HA!"

Alfred, Dent, Batman, they were all pawns in his own little game, his laughing game. And this was a game that The Joker had already won. 


	19. Dominoes Falling

CHAPTER 19 – DOMINOES FALLING

The Boon Dock Bar & Grill. Batman did not know what significance this place held to The Joker, and quite frankly, he didn't care. All he wanted to do was get Alfred and get out of there. But even as he opened the door, Dent close behind, he got that gut feeling of dread, the kind that crawls all over you like clawed fingers trailing under your skin. Something was wrong, very wrong.

As he stepped in, the first thing he noticed was Alfred lying on the floor. The second was that The Joker was nowhere to be seen. Right away, he felt like he was going to collapse, like his legs were going to give out under him. He knew the outcome but was hoping, praying for it not to be true. Letting out an inarticulate moan of muted terror, Batman dropped down onto his knees by Alfred's side. As he turned his body over, his hopes were squashed, and he felt yet another piece of himself die.

He stared at Alfred's cold face, locked in a hideous grin. He looked down and saw the words carved into his chest, "REMEMBER WHAT DAY IT IS." He felt his body betray him, breaking out all over in violent shudders. He blinked furiously, hoping that the image would disappear and Alfred would be alright, and every time his eyes closed and opened again revealing the same God-forsaken image he felt the anger grow. He realized he was starting to sob but he didn't care. All that was left in the world was him holding his surrogate father dead in his grasp.

Is that all his life had become? A series of holding the dead bodies of the ones he loved?

Batman roared out, not only of rage, not only of grief and utter despair, but of the bitter finality in realizing what his life had become. What _he_ had become.

He screamed and screamed and his throat started to seize and still he screamed. His world was shattering – he felt himself being ripped apart piece by piece. And finally, he was silent. Now, there was nothing left. He couldn't...feel anything. Just the despair...and the rage.

The Joker. Batman remembered him after God-knows how long. Through everything – his parents death, his blighted childhood, all the trials he had faced as Batman – Alfred had been there, with him, by his side. And now he was gone. No, not just gone. Taken. The Joker had taken Alfred away from him, hatefully snatched his life away. His final, ultimate act of cruelty. There was absolutely nothing left he could take away. 

Ever since his parents were killed and he became what he was he had always felt that there were two people inside of him: Bruce Wayne and Batman. Now, when the life of Bruce Wayne was being torn apart, surprisingly, it was Batman that was disappearing. There was only Bruce Wayne, and he had had enough of the Joker.

"Bruce...?"

Batman remembered that Harvey was still with him. He had watched him in his grief. Batman wasn't sure if he was angry or grateful.

"Are you ok, Bruce?" Dent asked, putting his hand on Batman's shoulder, "'Remember what day it is.' Today's Father's Day. Jesus, Bruce, I'm…"

Batman stood up, pushing Dent's hand away. He couldn't feel the comfort in it anyway.

"What are you going to do?" Dent asked, almost in a whisper.

"I'm going to put an end to this," Batman heard himself saying, "Once and for all."

Batman walked away, not waiting for Harvey's reply. He got into the Batmobile and drove off. He was going to find out where The Joker was (The Penguin should know, there isn't a damn thing in the Gotham Underworld that he _didn'_t know), and he was going to make him suffer.

And there was not a force in Heaven, Hell, or on Earth, that could stop him.

…

Harvey Dent stared helplessly after the Batmobile as it drove off. He had just discovered that Bruce Wayne was Batman, and now, Alfred was dead. Dent had a whole new respect for Wayne. If it had been him, he didn't think he could cope. He went back into the Boon Dock, looking down at Alfred. A man he'd never really known, but he had meant everything to Bruce Wayne, to Batman. A man that The Joker had murdered. And now, Bruce was feeling alone, more than ever. After all the wrong he'd done, Harvey had to make amends. He had to be a friend to Bruce, somebody he could trust, somebody worthy of that trust. When this was all over, Batman would need all the help he could get.

Just then, Harvey Dent heard the maniacal laughter behind him, and his heart seized in his chest.

When The Joker purchased The Boon Dock Bar & Grill, he'd added a few extras. One of those extras was a secret compartment in the wall. Deciding that there was no way he was going to miss out on the fun, he'd hid in the compartment, and had a front-row seat for Brucie's breakdown. Now, with Batman gone, The Joker emerged from his hiding place, pointing a gun at Dent.

"Harv, Harv, Harv. It looks like The Caped Coconut left you behind. Now that was silly of him, considering what I did to poor old Alfred."

The Joker approached Dent, stepping over Alfred's corpse. He casually looked down at the dead body, smiling at his own handiwork.

"I was glad to see that you got the joke. It's Father's Day! And this...old...fart was the closest thing Brucie had to a daddy ever since his real one was killed right in front of his eyes. And now, on the day where the two should be closer than ever, I've torn them apart forever. Oh, the irony! HA HA!"

The Joker moved closer to Dent, circling round behind him.

"Aren't you jealous of him, Harv? This butler was more of a father to Bruce Wayne than your real daddy was to you. I told you I did my research. He abused you, didn't he? What are you thinking now, on Father's Day? Do you still love him? More importantly, what does he think about you?"

The Joker walked round, until he was face-to-face with Dent. He lowered his gun.

"But there's someone who cares about you. With Alfred dead, you're probably the closest friend old Brucie has left. And wouldn't it be a tragedy if anything were to happen to you..."

Dent's lip curled in defiant hatred.

"I'm not afraid of dying," he spat, "I probably deserve to die after letting an abomination like you loose on the world!"

The Joker chuckled malevolently.

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," he explained, "Though there are people who would be very happy to see you dead. No, you may not be afraid of death, but there's something you _are_ scared of. What I have planned is worse. Much worse."

Suddenly, The Joker grabbed the trick flower on his lapel, squeezing it. Acid sprayed all over the left side of Harvey Dent's face.

Dent fell to the ground, screaming in agony. It was happening all over again, and just like in the court-room, there was nobody to save him. The pain was unbearable, oh God it burned! His face, Jesus, his face! It was a horrible sensation, being able to smell your own flesh burning. It was agonizing, like a fire you couldn't put out. He writhed, screamed, convulsed his body in violent spasms, but nothing could shake the excruciating agony! He could feel the movement of the acid, eating away the delicate, extensive reconstructive work done on his face. His skin was bubbling, melting! Harvey Dent had been plunged into Hell.

He was in so much pain he couldn't even think straight. But the one thing that was clear in his head was that _he_ was back, back from the dead to haunt him once again. He could feel his dark, primal spirit emerging from his heart, being pumped all through his body and straight into his fragmented mind. His nightmare had returned.

"A bit of deja vu, Harv? HA! It's better this way. You're a freak, just like me. You always have been. And it's only fitting that you're as ugly on the outside as you always will be on the inside."

The Joker crouched down over the ruin of Harvey Dent.

"You freed The Joker, and now I free Two-Face. Poetic, dontcha think? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Two-Face (and now it _was_ Two-Face) lunged upward, grabbing The Joker by the throat. He punched him as hard as he could, knocking him to the ground.

"**KILL…..YOU!"** Two-Face screamed in a feral rage.

"Hang on, wait a minute!" shouted The Joker, scrambling backwards, "You can't just kill me. Don't you need a little help in making that decision?"

The Joker produced the coin from his pocket. As soon as Two-Face saw it, he stopped near-dead in his tracks. The acid was still hissing on his face like a viper. The Joker cautiously stood up, flipping the coin. Two-Face snatched it away from him in mid-air. For a moment, he just looked down at it like it was a long lost friend returned to him.

"You hate me, I know that," The Joker said, "But am I really the one you should hate? Batman betrayed Harvey Dent, abandoned him, stood back and let his life be destroyed. Twice. So the question is – who do you want to kill more? Me or Batman? Justice…or vengeance? That's the choice you have to make… Two-Face."

Two-Face flipped the coin, looking down at his hand to see what side it had landed on. Deep inside, Harvey Dent wanted to scream, to put the gun to his own head. But Two-Face was back in control now, and he only did what the coin dictated. And it had spoken.

"**We've got a Bat to kill…"**


	20. Battle Royale

CHAPTER 20 – BATTLE ROYALE

At The Iceberg Lounge, The Penguin was feeling very good about himself. He'd managed to regain some of his Gotham territory. That treacherous wretch Black Mask was still the top crime boss in Gotham, and Cobblepot resented only being able to run his casino with the psychopath's permission, but even now he was planning on how to overthrow that pretender to his throne. And now he was getting another thorn in his side – Harvey Dent – dealt with by The Joker. Yes, things were looking up for The Penguin. Or so he thought.

The first thing Cobblepot noticed as he walked back to his office was that a leg from his $4,000 table was missing. The second was that his guards were on the floor, bleeding on his $10,000 carpet. The third thing he noticed was the sensation of the missing leg from said table smashing into the left temple of his skull, sending him tumbling down onto said carpet.

A massive black figure picked him up by the collar and threw him back into the broken table, completely shattering it. A few flashes from the bottom half of the figure and suddenly he was coughing up blood and had a size 14 boot on his abdomen. The figure exposed his full form and Oswald figured out it was The Batman - a very, very, _very_, angry Batman - who seemed to have blood smeared all over his gloves and chest.

The Penguin was really tired of noticing these kinds of things.

It was then that The Batman spoke. His normal growl was amazingly more frightening then Cobblepot had ever heard it. Indeed, The Batman was furious, and The Penguin was fighting not to wet the pants of his $500 suit.

"Penguin. Tell me where the Joker is. NOW!"

The Penguin, ever the man to try and keep his cool, merely shoved the boot aside, forced himself to his feet and dusted off his tux and straightened his dickey-bow. He picked up his top hat and placed it back on his head.

"I could have you arrested for breaking and entering you know," The Penguin said, forcing his voice not to tremble, "Not to mention property damage and assault."

He removed his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his lips and brow. He looked towards his table again.

"That table was a rare antique. Made in Munich. Priceless. But then vigilantes like you have no respect for other people's property, have you?"

Batman moved in closer to The Penguin, who took a nervous step back before continuing his rant.

"Now then you had a question. Oh yes, you wanted to know where the Joker is."

The Penguin took his cigarette holder out from his coat pocket, popped a cigarette in it and lit it with a trembling hand. He took a large puff from it and blew the smoke in Batman's direction.

"My dear rodent, how could I, a legitimate businessman, possibly know the whereabouts of a murderous psychotic like the Joker?"

"I don't have time for games, Penguin!" growled Batman, "That monster has killed his last victim tonight. Now I'm arguing if I should break more of your 'priceless antiques'...or just break _you_ instead. Tell me where I can find him, or I'll have more blood on my hands than I have to..."

But as he was speaking, The Penguin had inched his way towards his umbrella rack and was reaching behind him for the nearest umbrella. He grasped the handle and pulled it out, pointing it at Batman.

"I'm sure you of all people know that this does not shoot bird seed" The Penguin said with a sinister grin, "Scrap, Percibil! Peck his eyes out!"

Seconds later two large vultures swooped in. Batman barely had time to notice the buzzards landing on him as they started to try and peck into his skin. It would be quite difficult, since his eyes were protected by the starlight lenses and the majority of his body was covered in a thick kevlar-nomex weave. Calmly, he got two small electric disks and placed them on the birds. It wasn't enough to hurt them, but enough for them to think twice about their master's orders. They flew off of Batman and perched themselves at the open window.

"I don't think they want to, Penguin," he snarled.

"Useless buzzards!" squawked The Penguin in anger.

Batman once again began to approach him. The Penguin kept his umbrella pointed at the intruder.

"Oh, what are you going to do – 'break' me?" he asked sarcastically, but not without a note of fear, "Please, Batman, if you were that kind of a man you would have killed me or The Joker long ago. You lack the spine for such a bold move."

The Penguin was assuming this person The Joker killed that Batman had referred to was Dent. But why had he changed the plan to scar him with the acid?

"Dent is better off 6ft under anyway," The Penguin continued, following this train of thought, "A leopard can never truly change his spots. Dent probably still had his snout in the underworld trough. He got what he deserved. Everybody does eventually. The trick is to know where you are in the pecking order."

The Penguin pulled the trigger back on his umbrella handle.

"Now leave, rodent," he snapped, "Or I'll perforate your perfidious person and feed your carcass to the vultures!"

With speed almost unnatural, Batman lunged forward, grabbing the umbrella and punching right into his arm. He heard the popping sound of The Penguin's shoulder dislocating. His scream was a strange combination of a scream and a bird-like squawk. He grabbed his other arm and used the momentum to toss him over to the other side of the room, landing on the wall and collapsing on the floor. With vicious speed, Batman leapt towards him, landing right on top of him. He grabbed his collar and punched with all his might – all his anger - right into his face.

THUD.  
THUD.  
THUD.

His beak-like nose might as well have been shattered. He'd have some massive bruises and two horrendous black eyes in the morning.

"I don't have the backbone!?" he growled.

At that moment, he heard a car pulling up into the lounge. They had company. Hovering over the bloodied, sputtering Cobblepot, he stood prepared, waiting for whoever was about to make their entrance. And then Harvey Dent walked in, his face held in his hands.

"Batman!" he whimpered, "Why did you leave me behind?"

"Harvey, I..." began Batman.

Then Dent pulled his hands away, revealing himself as Two-Face.

**"Not Harvey anymore!"** snapped Two-Face, pointing a gun at Batman.

This was like a nightmare that never ended, that kept on getting more and more horrific. He had only just regained Harvey Dent as a friend, a closer friend than ever, and now he was gone again. Lost to Two-Face. First Alfred, then Harvey. Both had been taken from him.

But, how…" began Batman, horror and disbelief etched on his face.

"He cut himself shaving. HA HA!"

Before he could react, The Joker had sneaked up behind Batman, pointing his over-sized gun at the back of Batman's head.

"Gotcha," chuckled The Joker.

The Penguin lurched back onto his feet, one arm hanging limp, and pointed his umbrella gun at Batman with his good arm. The Joker laughed triumphantly.

"3 on 1. I don't like the odds, Batsy..."

With a cold, methodical approach that even frightened him, Batman started to fight. First, he took out a smoke grenade, causing the gas to blind his opponents. He started by kicking the umbrella gun from Penguin's hand and kicking him in the stomach. The Penguin tumbled back down to the floor, hitting the wall with a thud.

Batman recognized the next nearest person to be Harvey Dent - now Two-Face once again. He wished he could say that he felt some compassion because of who Harvey used to be. He wished he could say he recognized who he was and was easy on him.

He wished.

Instead, knowing how the newly scarred part of his face would be sensitive, Batman took one of his batarangs and sliced into the flesh. Two-Face's screams told him he had hit the mark. Batman punched into a pressure point on the neck, causing him to pass out onto the floor.

Then, Batman saw the last person standing, the one who deserved to die more than any person on this planet: The Joker. The smoke was starting to clear and The Joker could see him too.

"Remember when you shot Barbara?" Batman asked, "That day, I tried to talk to you, saying how someday we were going to kill each other. Either I would kill you, or you would kill me, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that at the end of that day, our blood would be on each other's hands."

Batman started to walk towards him. The Joker responded by walking around the room. They were circling each other like predators. Batman continued talking.

"Today's that day, Joker. I can feel it in my bones. Now, no matter how much you've taken from me...I don't want to kill you. If you know who I am then you must know about the vow I took, to never take a life. But if that's what it takes to finally stop you, then I hope that God - and most importantly, _they_ - can understand."

He paused for a moment, before finally saying it.

"One of us isn't going to leave alive."

The Joker, face to face, with his nemesis, burst into wicked laughter.

"You're right about that."

The Joker pointed his gun at Batman, pulling the trigger. A "BANG!" flag rolled out instead of bullets.

"Oh," said The Joker, as Batman dived on him.

But before Batman could land a single punch, The Joker stabbed the flag into his chest, quickly drawing it out. Batman immediately began to spasm, as The Joker crawled out from underneath him.

"How does that feel, Bats?" giggled The Joker sadistically, "I just injected a neurotoxin into your system. Even as we speak, it's shutting your body down, cutting off the reflexive impulses of your brain from the rest of your nervous system. It's going to leave you paralysed for a good couple of hours. Kind of like a waking coma. But don't worry, you still have full sensation. You're going to feel every bit of pain inflicted on you. Now, don't go anywhere! HA HA!"

Batman could offer no response. All he could do was lie there helplessly on the floor. The Joker turned away from the beaten Batman, looking at his fallen partners. He helped The Penguin to his feet first.

"Take a deep breath, Ozzie," he said, "This is going to hurt you more than it's going to hurt me."

The Joker gave The Penguin's arm a sharp tug, popping his dislocated shoulder back into place. Cobblepot let out a pained squawk.

"Ozzie, could you go get some rope to tie our friend up?"

The Joker went across to Two-Face, who was staggering to his feet.

"This is the fun part, Harv. And we're going to make this last a looooong time! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"


	21. A Cold, Dark Place

CHAPTER 21 – A COLD, DARK PLACE

Batman couldn't move.

He wanted to, he _needed_ to. He couldn't let him escape again. Hell, letting The Joker escape was probably the least of his worries right now. Thinking of all the horrors that lay in wait for him, he willed his body to move, but it couldn't. He would curse and scream and yell but his mouth had been frozen from the paralysis as well.How could he have been so blind? How could the Joker have been able to stab through the kevlar of the suit? Why didn't he protect Alfred? Why couldn't he save him? Why did The Joker ever have to do this? Why does he feel the need to kill the people Bruce Wayne loves? Why did the damn monster even exist?

All these questions running through his head, and he couldn't even open his mouth to ask one of them. For the first time in many years, he was helpless.

…

The Penguin held his arm. It had a rotted ache after The Joker had popped it back in. His head throbbed, his nose was bleeding and Batman had smashed his favourite umbrella and trashed his nice cosy private office. Not a pleasant evening so far. He saw Batman slumped on the floor incapacitated. The Penguin limped over and kicked him in the stomach.

"Lousy bat vermin!" he snarled as he went to his desk and pressed a buzzer. A minute later two muscled thugs came to the door.

"Did you meatheads not hear the commotion in here?" the Penguin shouted as he dipped his handkerchief into the jug of water on the mantelpiece, wiping the blood off his mouth.

"Sorry, Mr. Cobblepot, but we were out back making sure..." one of them started.

"Spare me," snapped The Penguin, cutting them off, "Just pick up the bat and tie him securely to that chair."

The two thugs did as they were told, hoisting Batman off the ground and tying him securely to the chair.

"Now wait outside," The Penguin said, "And make sure we're not disturbed. Private meeting."

The henchmen nodded, exiting the office and closing the door behind them. The Penguin wiped the last of the blood from his face and put another cigarette in his cigarette holder, carefully lighting it. He walked over to his umbrella rack, his white gloved hand hovering over the many umbrella handles before he carefully selected one.

He swung it merrily in his hand as he walked over and stood in front of Batman. He put the tip of the umbrella on Batman's chest and suddenly a wave of electricity seared through Batman's body, the voltage surging through his prone body. His armor absorbed some of the shock, but the agony was unbearable. All that energy coursing through his veins, it felt like he was being set on fire from the inside.

"You know, I've always had a fondness for flying creatures," said The Penguin, "But the winged rat is not among them."

The Penguin sent another jolt of electricity through Batman's body. The current created some artificial motion in Batman's body, making him jerk and spasm, but as soon as he withdrew the umbrella, he once again went completely still. A trail of saliva ran down the side of his mouth. Looking at him, you wouldn't guess the world of pain he was in. The Penguin looked back at Joker and Two-Face, smirking as he puffed smoke from his cigarette holder.

"Gentlemen, there's enough bat for everyone to take a turn."

"**Well said, midget,"** growled Two-Face, pulling out his gun.

Two-Face crouched in front of Batman, pointing the gun at his head.

"**You really thought you'd seen the last of me, chump? And I thought you were**** supposed to be smart. Dent is nothin' without me! I'm the only one who'll always be there for him, who won't abandon him. You let Dent down again, Batman! Again! Even though he was supposed to be your FRIEND! You deserve to die for that. And maybe you will. Maybe you won't. Life is cruel that way. It can change…end…on the flip of a coin…"**

Two-Face flipped his coin. It landed with the unscarred side facing up.

"**Luck must be on your side, Batman. You get to live…for now!"**

Two-Face pistol-whipped Batman, sending a splash of blood flying from his mouth. He then proceeded to batter Batman across the face with the gun, wanting traitor-Bruce to feel a little of his pain. Again and again he brought the gun smashing down, counting the rhythms of his strikes in his tortured mind.

1-2….

1-2….

1-2…

"Harv, that's enough," said The Joker, "Leave some for me."

Two-Face stopped beating Batman with the gun, leaving the lower half of his face a crimson mask of blood. As The Joker approached, dragging another chair along with him, Batman tried to focus his mind through the delirium of pain. His body may be useless, but he had to keep his mind active, alert for some kind of way out. He couldn't afford to black out. Whatever he did, he couldn't black out. The Joker put the chair down in front of Batman, straddling it and sitting down face-to-face with his nemesis.

"Well, Batman, I think it's time we had a little chat."

The Joker chuckled softly, giving Batman a wink.

"I will call you Batman, since your...other half was recently killed by me when I murdered that old man. I think it's only fair. I'm only The Joker, so naturally you should only be Batman. Why should you be allowed an out, a safe, secure little world that I'm not a part of? I don't have that luxury. What makes you so special!? Heh heh, this way, the way it is now…heh…it makes our little war far more pure, don't you think?"

The Joker's smile began to fade.

"All my recent pranks, they've all been about irony. The depressed losers laughing to death. The doctor being killed by an ambulance. Those peons blowing up outside a firehouse. The little brat of a famous child saviour being murdered. Me turning Harvey into Two-Face. And, of course, Alfred being killed on Father's Day. He was like a father to you, wasn't he?"

The Joker suddenly lunged forward, giving Batman a stiff backhand slap across the face.

"Everything I've done, it's all been about this one moment, right here, this one ironic punchline. Thanks to you, only The Joker is left. And now, thanks to me, only Batman is left. And one of us is going to die tonight. And I'm not kidding around, not this time!"

And he wasn't. For once, his face was deadly serious.

"I am going to kill you, Batman, and it's going to be no laughing matter."

But then that cruel, devious smile returned.

"I have a special surprise for you, Batsy," continued The Joker, "A fitting end, I'd say."

The Joker turned to The Penguin.

"Ozzie, I think it would be best if you stayed here at The Iceberg Lounge. Harv and I have some business to take care of. Help me lift our friend, will you Harv?"

The Joker and Two-Face lifted the chair Batman was tied to into the back of one of The Penguin's cargo vans. The Joker had a duffel bag already dumped in there. He got into the driver's seat, and Two-Face got into the passenger's seat. They drove off, leaving The Iceberg Lounge behind.

The Penguin watched them leave, shaking his head in disgust. He didn't know what was going to cost more – the repairs for this place, or his extensive medical bills! But he took comfort in the knowledge that Batman would not survive the night. Only a miracle could save him now…

…

"Oh, you're going to love this, Brucie," cackled The Joker, "You see, I've made some calls, and had some of my associates do a little...digging. I'm not just going to kill you - I'm going to drive you insane first!"

The van drove through Gotham City, finally ending up at Gotham Cemetery. They drove through the pathway, finally stopping the van near the gravesite of Thomas and Martha Wayne. The Joker and Two-Face untied the paralysed Batman from the chair, carrying him past the site. The Joker stopped, allowing Batman plenty of time to see that the graves had been dug up, and that the bodies had been removed from the coffins.

"HA HA! I know what you're thinking, Brucie. Where are Mommy and Daddy? Well, I'll show you."

The Joker led Two-Face and Batman through the graveyard, soon coming to a large open grave. In the hole were the decayed skeletons of Bruce Wayne's parents. The Joker's eyes widened with euphoria as he gazed upon the macabre tableau before them. It was just like he'd imagined it, the way he'd envisioned it every minute of every day in his cell in Arkham. For so many years, The Joker had said he wouldn't kill Batman until he had found the perfect moment. Well, this was it. Perfection.

Inside, Batman was probably screaming, the floods of madness pounding at his mind's last defenses. But outside, he was perfectly still, perfectly motionless.

"Oh, I gotta say, Bruce, your folks haven't aged well. Time hasn't been kind! HA HA! But I guess you have a lot of catching up to do with them, Brucie-boy. So why don't you get a little closer?"

The Joker took great pleasure in that moment of silence, with Batman teetering over the precipice of the worst abyss he could ever imagine. Then, he shoved Batman into the grave. He landed face-down in the grave, in between the skeletons of his parents.

"Harv, go get the shovels from the back of the van."

Two-Face went and got the shovels, and they proceeded to bury Batman alive. The two psychopaths didn't even bother to exchange glances, they were so focused on the task at hand. Layer upon layer of dirt fell on the Caped Crusader, and all that time, The Joker remained fixated on the back of Batman's head. Damn it! He wished he'd let him fall face up, with the mask off. He wanted to look into his eyes as he buried him. He wanted to see the fear, see the very moment the madness consumed him. But it was a minor concern. Soon, the dirt had covered his entire body, and there was no head to stare at. Then all he needed to focus on was the burial. The funeral. Batman was gone forever.

Once the grave was complete, The Joker took a red rose out of his pocket, laying it on the burial site.

"So long, Batman. It's been a pleasure." 

And he meant it. For over a decade, his life had been defined by the need to prove he was better than Batman. And finally, he'd done it. There was no laughter this time, only a triumphant smile. The Joker had beaten Batman. Game over.


	22. Game Over

CHAPTER 22 – GAME OVER

So, this was what it felt like to be mad.

A world devoid of light, hope or reason. This was what Batman had always assumed insanity – real insanity – to be. And his current situation seemed to fit that definition perfectly. Buried, face down in the dirt, the desecrated corpses of his parents inches from his face. Trapped – alive – in his own grave. Blind panic and terror threatened to consume him, to smother all his mental faculties in a blanket of blind hysteria.

He wanted to scream. The Joker had done it. The ultimate victory over his mind, body and soul. Batman was going to die the most horrific death imaginable, buried alive, unable to lift a finger to save himself. He could feel the walls of his mind straining and crumbling; he knew now that by the time he took his last futile breaths, he would have completely given in to the madness. He was going to die here, terrified, insane, and alone. No, not alone. His parents were here with him. Buried with their corpses, the symbolism was not lost on him. This was not just the death of Batman, but his cause, all he had stood for. Bruce Wayne might as well have died with Thomas and Martha Wayne outside the theatre on that fateful night.

The Joker had won. And he wanted to scream. Scream and scream, not caring that nobody heard him. Let the dirt in and the madness out. One last burst of defiance before giving in to oblivion. He wanted to scream. He needed to scream. He _had_ to scream!

And he did.

At last, he had control of his movements again! The first hope of their return had glimmered as Batman was being driven to the graveyard, when he had felt his right pinkie move. At first, he hadn't been sure if he had just imagined it. But then it had happened again. He had no control over it. It was little more than an involuntary spasm. But it was movement, and that was hope. He could only pray that The Joker or Two-Face didn't see it, and inject more of the toxin into him.

As The Joker and Two-Face had dragged him into the cemetery, a freezing chill had run through Batman's spine. It wasn't until he'd noticed the headstones that his blood ran cold and the sheer hate burned through his veins like a building cancer.

This bastard, this evil monster, the Anti-Christ himself, had dug up the bodies of his parents, hauled them out of their coffins and dropped their decaying bodies back into his freshly-dug grave. Batman wanted to disembowel this…wretched creature! Burn him alive from the inside out!

Then, the fear had hit him like a sucker-punch to the gut. The soul-crushing realization of what lay in store for him. Pure horror overcame him as The Joker tauntingly dangled him over the abyss. He wanted to throw up, he could feel the vomit working its way up from his gut. But he didn't have the necessary reflexes to eject it. The memory of the pinkie, and the faint hope that came with it, had been quickly forgotten. His body was useless. He was at the mercy of a monster that had none. And his parents…

_Mother…_

_Father…_

Those were the words playing over and over in his mind when they dropped him into the grave and started re-shoveling the dirt onto him. And they were the words in his mind now, as he screamed with blind fury, and sputtered as the soil filled his open mouth. And as the scream ended, the movement began, his whole body twitching violently back to life.

Anger burned into adrenaline, and the adrenaline accelerated his body's battle against the paralysing drug. He regained control of his motion, starting to flex and move as the dirt began to weigh against him. He started to dig his way through, desperately trying to hold his breath. He tried not to think of the shifting and shattering of his parent's bones beneath him, he couldn't afford to. He could only think of his own survival. His desperate tug-of-war with madness and death.

It felt like the more dirt he pulled aside with shaking hands, the more slid down to take its place. For a few fleeting moments, his mind gave way to the terrifying prospect that he wasn't even digging upwards, that he was digging down even deeper into this man-made Hell. And again, he found himself fighting panic and hysteria. But finally, his hand reached the surface. He started clawing his way out, fighting for life. And it was like the dirt didn't want him to have it, collapsing in on itself and attempting to suck him back in. But finally, he was able to pull his entire body free, rolling round onto his back by the side of the grave. Gasping and sobbing, he took some deep breaths of air. It had started raining heavily, but Batman didn't care. He knew how lucky he was to be alive.

But he could only take a few moments to bathe in relief and the primal joy of survival, before he had to gather his senses and struggle to his feet. His legs gave way under him on his first attempt. But he tried again, standing on shaking legs. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, until his legs steadied. At last, all effects of the neurotoxin were neutralized. And all that was left standing, caked in mud, rain pouring in cascades down his body, was Batman.

Frantically looking around, Batman saw The Joker's van in the distance making its slow, careful way through the winding road of the graveyard. He still had a chance to catch up with them, cut them off. But he'd have to be quick.

The Joker thought he could escape from him? No. Not this time. This time, there would be no escape from the final retribution. Batman was going to do what he should have done a long time ago.

He was going to kill him.

…

The Joker and Two-Face hadn't exchanged a word as they sat together in the front of the van. As they finally turned out of the graveyard and back onto the streets of Gotham, The Joker stared forward grimly at the road ahead, lost in his own thoughts. It was left to Two-Face to break the silence.

"**So…"**

"So?" The Joker asked in response.

"**What now?"**

The Joker sighed pensively, waiting for several seconds before offering a measured response.

"I don't know."

Not a joke. Not a laugh. Not even a smile. Two-Face didn't know how to react.

"**We still got unfinished business. You wrecked Harvey Dent's last chance at happiness. You've still gotta answer for that. But on the other side of the coin, I owe it to you for bringing me back, when Dent had cast me aside like used goods. So where do we stand? What happens next?"**

The Joker responded with more silence. He was thinking. It had all been so clear to him, when Batman was alive. So many thought that he was irrational, that his actions were senseless and random. But they were wrong. In The Joker's mind, it had all been so crystal-clear. His life, is every action, was all working towards finally achieving total victory over Batman. Now, Batman was dead. His life's purpose had been fulfilled. Now what? What did Odysseus do when his journey was complete? For the first time, The Joker's future felt vague, imprecise. A distant land of doubt and uncertainty.

"I don't know."

As The Joker spoke those words, a cascade of Batarangs flew into the side of the van. The whole structure of the van was rocked by the explosion, falling onto its side and sliding across the pavement for a few feet.

Batman calmly walked towards the burnt wreckage, kicking out the windows and finding his pale-faced target. He grabbed him by the collar, dragged him out of the shattered window, and flung him across the wreckage. But then, from behind him, he heard the click of a gun. Batman spun round, and found himself confronted by Two-Face. He was standing by the carcass of the van, a nasty cut across his forehead, with his pistol pointed at Batman.

"**Forgot about me, Wayne?"** he growled, **"I'm back, like a phoenix risin' from the ashes…"**

The ashes of Harvey Dent. Harvey Dent was gone, and Two-Face had returned. And this time, Batman was even more responsible for the transformation than he had been before. One more thing Batman had to live with.

But Batman didn't have time for Dent. Not now. In a split-second movement, he lunged forward, grabbing the arm holding the gun. It went off, a bullet skimming past Batman's head. He didn't care about that: he just wanted Two-Face out of the picture. He hit him with a devastating left-hook, knocking him right off his feet. Batman crouched down to get a hold of him, but Two-Face reacted quicker than he expected, hooking his forefingers into the sides of Batman's mouth, and yanking him downwards, his head connecting sharply with Two-Face's knee. He saw stars, rolling back onto the road as Two-Face struggled to his feet, pulling his coin out of his pocket.

"**There's no judge, Batman. There's no jury. Justice isn't about all that. When you get rid of all the BS, justice is duality: guilty or not guilty, like two sides of a coin. And now I'm gonna reach a verdict on you, Batman." **

Two-Face flipped his coin. Caught it. Looked down at the outcome with furious, hungry eyes.

"**Guilty!"**

Two-Face kicked Batman hard in the ribs.

"**Guilty of treachery, guilty of…of abandoning a friend when he needed you the most!"**

Another kick. Batman grunted in pain.

"**Sentence is death."**

Two-Face kicked Batman again, but this time he caught his foot, swiping the other leg out from under him, and knocking him hard to the ground. Batman grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved his head through the back-window of the van. Then he dragged him back and slammed him as hard as he could into a headstone, knocking him out cold. One down, one to go.

The Joker had regained his senses, and had begun crawling away from the scene, like some kind of wounded animal. He certainly couldn't look on that thing as human, especially when he considered what he had to do now. Batman noticed a tool-kit that had fallen from the van. Beside it, he spotted a tool The Joker had used before to kill another of his own. He picked up the crowbar, planning to use it to beat him as close to death as he humanly could, just like The Joker had done to Jason. This was it. The Joker had played his last sick prank. Batman was going to end this, once and for all. He was going to kill him, right here, right now. He was going to watch as those crazy, evil eyes rolled back into his head, and he was going to be there when that horrible laugh stopped.

And God forgive him, he was going to enjoy it.

"Batman!" sputtered The Joker, "What an...unpleasant surprise."

The Joker was scrambling backwards, away from Batman. He had already been beaten to within an inch of his life with a crowbar once in the recent past. He didn't intend on having it done to him again. And judging by the way The Bat looked, he wasn't going to escape with his life. Not this time.

"Hey, Bruce, don't take it personally," he said, "Heh heh, I was just making things right. In all fairness, you should have been buried with your parents way back when you were a little spoiled-brat kid."

But Batman didn't reply. The Joker crawled around aimlessly on the ground, trying to regain his bearings. But before he could get to his feet, the heavy footsteps of his mortal foe approaching began pounding closer and closer behind him. He would have to think fast. He spun round, pointing his gun at Batman.

"Stay back, Brucie! I'm not joking this time - now it's really loaded!"

But Batman just threw a Batarang, knocking the gun away from The Joker. He grabbed him, hitting a solid punch in his face. The Joker let out a pained whimper, which quickly turned into a desperate laugh.

"Funny how things turn out!" he feebly chuckled, "No! I won't be dying. I have so much to do. So many people to kill..."

The Joker through a smoke grenade onto the ground, and the area surrounding him erupted into green gas. The Joker used this opportunity to make a run for it, trying to exit the scene. Trying to get away from Batman. But none of his toys, none of his one-liners, nothing would help him tonight. Batman had become a storm, a force of nature, and nothing would get in the way of his vengeance.

He wasn't going to escape.

Batman tracked The Joker's movements with his starlight lenses. He took out three of his throwing-stars and perfectly targeted each at pressure points on The Joker's back. The back, already injured earlier, seized up completely, and The Joker collapsed in a heap. He would be stuck on the ground for a while.

Batman walked towards the fallen clown, gripping the crowbar in his hands. No, there would be no escape for The Joker. There would be no clever getaways, no contrived innocent-in-peril situation Batman had to stop. It was just the two of them, and a crowbar. Batman finally spoke, echoing what The Joker had just said.

"Funny how things turn out."

And then there was silence. The only sound that broke the night was the heavy pounding of the rain, which had now escalated into a downpour. Slowly, painfully, The Joker looked up at Batman. He lay there on his back, looking up at his nemesis – back from the dead – and now the tables had turned; now it was _him_ that couldn't move. Now how was that for irony? Everything he'd tried, Batman had overcome. And now, here he was, lying at the entrance of a cemetery, facing death. Batman may have expected The Joker to start whimpering in fear, or start begging for his life. But instead, he just started laughing.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA..."

The Joker tilted his head to the side, and spat out a wad of blood onto the ground.

"Well, here we are. You win, I lose. Now, why don't you kill me?"

The Joker stared at Batman, a mad glint in his eye.

"Come on, it's easy. Bash my brains in. You know you want to. Become what you were always destined to be. A maniac. A psycho. A killer."

The Joker giggled tauntingly at Batman.

"After all, I'm the only thing that keeps you from being just as crazy as all the monsters you hunt. If you kill me, you become me. You need me to give your life justification. You need someone to hate other than yourself. So go ahead and kill me. I can die happy, knowing the hell you're going to be entering."

The Joker closed his eyes, waiting for the fatal blow. They say that before you die, your life rushes before your eyes. But The Joker saw nothing of his wicked history. He only saw the future. A future without him, yes, but funnily enough, everything was clear to him once again. A smile slowly spread across his face.

"I kill you, or you kill me. Either way, I win the game."

Batman raised the crowbar, about to bash his face in, pound that demonic mask of hate into nothingness, and extinguish this vile mockery of a life. But then The Joker's laughter, ringing through his head, was joined by other voices. Images blinked back and forth in his mind. 

_The frenzied eyes of the gunman looking down on him as he kneeled by the side of his dead parents.  
Jason, dead and freezing in his arms.  
Seeing Barbara's tear-drenched face in the hospital after she was shot.  
HIM shooting Sara Essen.  
HIM laughing triumphantly in his cell in Arkham, knowing he has once again evaded justice.  
Alfred, dead on the ground, with HIS grin plastered on his face.  
Bruce's mother kissing him on the cheek before tucking him to bed.  
Alfred telling him that everything will be alright, despite the emptiness inside._

What was before a settled certainty in his mind has become utter confusion. The Joker's laughter was more crazed than ever, because of his imminent death. And in that moment, Batman realised his plan.

He angrily swung the crowbar, driving it into the ground, an inch from The Joker's face. He dropped the crowbar by The Joker's head, looking down at the man who had caused him so much pain. Batman wanted to say something profound, something that would reflect everything going on in his head. But he couldn't. So he just turned and walked away.

The Joker opened his eyes. What had happened? He looked over, and saw the crowbar lying beside him, and then, with a wince of pain, looked up. His smile vanished as he spotted Batman, slowly walking away.

"Hey! What are you doing? Get back here and finish the job! Don't you walk away from me!"

But that was exactly what Batman was doing. Not even bothering to look back, he turned on the comm. He told Oracle the coordinates of The Joker and Two-Face so the police could grab them. They were already on their way.

The Joker was getting desperate as Batman got further and further away. He was almost out of the cemetery. No, this wasn't happening! He had planned so much for this, prepared for so long. This was the final act, the end. It had to be! Batman wasn't going to win, not this time. The Joker had to get him back, push him over the edge.

"Your mother was a whore! And your father sodomised Alfred on a daily basis! I've had sex with Barbara Gordon, I did her up the ass! HA HA! Are you listening to me? Are you really going to let me live, knowing what I could do to you? Knowing what I could do to your loved ones? Bruce! BATMAN!"

But Batman was gone. The Joker tried to get up to go after him, but his back froze up. The damage done by the throwing-stars meant he couldn't move his back, not until the swelling on the pressure-points went down. With an angered groan, he slumped back onto the ground. As he heard the sirens slowly approaching, he slammed his fist into the ground in frustration, letting out a scream of anger.

Batman staggered back into the cemetery, looking up at the sky. He allowed himself a moment to recuperate, to feel the rain beating down on his face. But then the sirens began to get louder, so he made his exit. He hurt all over, physically, mentally and emotionally. But he did have a sense of hope. Alfred may be dead, but he hadn't betrayed his memory by resorting to murder. He had remembered who he was.

He was Batman. And he was never going to become HIM. Never.


	23. Everything Old Is New Again

EPILOGUE – EVERYTHING OLD IS NEW AGAIN

Bruce Wayne had always hated funerals. He still remembered his first, back when he was just a child. He'd stood by the graveside of Thomas and Martha Wayne, his murdered parents, with silent tears streaming down his cheeks. Even with Alfred's comforting hand on his shoulder, he'd felt all alone. Well, today, Alfred wasn't there to comfort him. Today, it was Alfred's funeral.He almost didn't go, but he knew that he had to, if only to say goodbye. Before it started, the chaplain had asked him to say a few words. Bruce didn't want to. He didn't want everyone there seeing just how weak he had become. But somehow, if felt like he had to say something: it was the least he could do for Alfred. And so, Bruce found himself standing behind the podium in a daze of grief.

"Good morning," He said, the irony of the statement hitting him, "Of course, everyone knows who I am, but very few knew about my butler, Alfred. Those of you assembled here surely knew he was much more than that to me. After my parent's death, he became my legal guardian, helping me cope with my loss. He has been by my side for everything. No matter where I was in the world, I knew if something were to happen, I would just have to call, and he'd be there."

Bruce looked out amongst the assembled mourners. Sat in the front row were Dick Grayson and Tim Drake, their eyes red raw from grief. Tim was crying openly, but Dick maintained a solemn silence, his head bowed.

"There was…nobody quite like Alfred Pennyworth. Many of you will fondly remember him for his sharp wit, but I will always remember him for his heart. He was the bravest, most noble man I've ever known. He was a second father to me, and I will miss him for the rest of my life. Thank you."

Bruce stepped off the podium, too numb to even cry anymore. It was at that point where Oswald Cobblepot approached him. The Penguin. The Joker and Two-Face were brought to justice, but as usual, he'd been unable to tie The Penguin to anything. The only evidence of his involvement was his own appearance: his face was a colourful mass of bruises and his arm was in a sling. But what the hell was he doing here? Well, that was obvious. He was trying to ingratiate himself with one of Gotham's wealthiest citizens.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Bruce," he said, "A death in the family is always hard, as I'm sure you know. If you need someone to talk to, or just need to get away from it all, just be among some friendly faces, come and see me at The Iceberg Lounge. We're closed for…renovation at the moment, but once we've reopened, you should know that you're always welcome."

Cobblepot extended his hand. Gritting his teeth to conceal his rage, Bruce Wayne shook his hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Cobblepot," he replied, with great difficulty. 

After the funeral service was finished, he stayed for a moment, watching everyone leave. The only person left was Dick Grayson, who was standing in front of Alfred's gravestone.

"Dick?" Bruce asked, "Will you be alright?"

Bruce saw the tears brimming in Dick's eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't. Finally, he broke down. He'd tried to maintain his composure, but couldn't hold in his pain any longer. Bruce took him in his arms, and Dick's head slumped down onto his shoulder. Bruce wanted to tell him not to feel ashamed for crying, that it just meant he was human, more human than Bruce himself was. But he couldn't find the words, and instead remained silent. He remembered when he was 8 years old, crying in Alfred's arms after his parent's funeral.

It's amazing how things can change, yet stay almost exactly the same.

…

Meanwhile, at the District Attorney's office, Jim Gordon felt like he was attending another funeral. The funeral of Harvey Dent. Harvey Dent, now in custody, was once again Two-Face. But at the station, Dent had resurfaced briefly to make one request: that he be allowed to clear out his own office before being sent back to Arkham.

Jim Gordon had gone to the station as soon as he'd found out what happened. Two-Face would only talk to him, and Dent had asked him for this one favour. It pained Gordon to see Dent once again destroyed. So close to salvation, only for The Joker to take it all away. Another life ruined by that monster. And so here he was: standing in what had ever-so-briefly been Dent's office, a group of armed police officers outside, with Two-Face shoving Dent's personal effects in a box.

"**You won't hold me for long,"** Two-Face snarled, slamming a paper-weight into the box, **"I'm gonna get payback on all of you for sticking me back in that nuthouse!"**

"I'm doing you a favour," sighed Gordon, "A thank you would be nice…"

"**This is for Dent, not for me!"** Two-Face snapped back.

But then Two-Face faltered. With a shaking hand, he picked up the last thing left on the desk.

"Gilda…"

He gently placed the framed photo in the box. For a brief moment, he was Harvey Dent again. A tear ran down his good eye as he looked up at Gordon.

"What happened to me, Jimbo?" Dent asked, "How did we get to this?"

And then he began to cry. It wasn't a pretty sight, his mangled face contorting in pain and sorrow. Gordon tentatively placed his hand on Dent's shoulder. But it was swiped away angrily. Two-Face was back.

"**Take me out of this dump,"** Two-Face growled, **"I'm done."**

…

Arkham Asylum. Home, sweet home. The Joker was back in captivity, beaten once again. This wasn't supposed to happen! This should have been his endgame, his greatest joke, his time to finally defeat Batman. Discovering that he was Bruce Wayne was supposed to change everything, so why was it just the same? Batman beats the snot out of him, and sends him packing to Arkham. This wasn't funny anymore!

But this wasn't over. Not by a long shot. No, it was just the beginning. Maybe this wasn't supposed to be his grand finale. Maybe it was supposed to be the opening flourish in a whole new Act in this theatre of death, where Batman and The Joker were the stars. But now there were a whole new batch of supporting players, a whole list of people from Bruce Wayne's life just waiting to be picked off. More than enough to sustain their epic, Shakespearian tragedy for many years to come.

And maybe that's where the real fun was. Not in victory, but in the battle itself. Maybe The Joker needed Batman as much as Batman needed The Joker. Batman defined him – his rigid sense of order and vomit-inducing dedication to his morals represented everything The Joker stood against. Batman was his antithesis, the yin to his yang. So could one truly exist without the other?

The Joker laughed away this thought. Of course he could. Once Batman was dead, The Joker would know once and for all that he was better. And Gotham City would belong to him. He would be Gotham's king, ruling over a kingdom of smiling corpses.

And that thought brought it on. Soft at first, a gentle "Hm-hm-hm-hm" pushing against his chest, his grin dancing on his demonic face. And then his mouth burst open, like the flick of the switch on an atom bomb, and the laughter was free. Each "HA!" spat out with hate, cruelty and a malevolent good-cheer, pounding all around the building and right through the souls of everyone in it. It was like The Devil being summoned from the abyss. And many people would say he was The Devil. He was The Ace Of Knaves, The Harlequin Of Hate, The Clown Prince Of Crime. He was The Joker, and one day the whole world would be in on the joke.

_Smile, and the whole world smiles with you. Cry, and you weep alone._


End file.
